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along  Xlfe'0  Highway 


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TRAVELLERS.  FIVE  ALONG  1IFES  W&HWAY 


Alflttg 

iftmmy,  <$Utom  Ilujjjan,  oil}*  ttkram, 


BY 

Atmt*  3t?Uom 

Author  of  "  The  Little  Colonel  Series,"  "Asa  Holmes, 
"Joel:   A  Boy  of  Galilee,"  etc. 

With  a  Foreword  by 

darutan 


Frontispiece  In  full  colour  from  a  painting  by 
timmuii  ffi.  (Oarrrtt 


Ittbrrrrxi 


Copyright,  1901,  1904,  by 
THE  SHOKTSTOBY  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 


Copyright,  1899,  by 
THE  S.  S.  MCCLUEE  Co. 

Copyright,  1903,  by 
THE  CENTURY  Co. 

Copyright,  1911,  fcy 
L.  C.  PAGE  &  COMPANY 

(INCORPORATED) 

Ml  rights  reserved 


First  impression,  October,  1911 


ElectrotypedandPrintedbt/ 
THE  COLONIAL  PRESS 
C.  H.  Simands  &  Co.,  Boston,  U.S.  A. 


jforeworb 


OF  all  the  elements  that  go  to  make 
up  a  good  story,  —  plot,  verisimilitude, 
happy  incident,  local  colour,  excellent 
style,  —  none  perhaps  is  more  important 
than  the  touch  of  understanding  sym- 
pathy. The  writer  must  not  only  see  his 
characters  clearly  and  draw  them  with  a 
masterly  hand;  he  must  have  the  large- 
ness of  heart  that  can  share  in  all  the  tur- 
bulent experience  of  the  human  spirit. 
His  people  must  be  set  against  the  vast 
shifting  background  of  destiny.  He  must 
show  their  dramatic  relations,  one  to  an- 
other, and  the  influence  of  life  upon  life; 
he  must  also  show  their  profounder,  more 
v 


21.11063 


Joreworfr 

moving  and  mysterious,  relations  to  fate 
and  time  and  the  infinite  things. 

The  writer  of  fiction  creates  for  us  a 
mimic  country,  peoples  it  with  creatures 
of  the  fancy,  like  ourselves  and  yet  dif- 
ferent, and  asks  us  to  stray  for  our  enter- 
tainment through  that  new  kingdom. 
The  scenes  may  be  as  strange  or  as 
familiar  as  you  please;  the  characters 
as  commonplace  or  as  exceptional  as  you 
will ;  yet  they  must  always  be  within  the 
range  of  our  sympathy.  The  incidents 
must  be  such  as  we  ourselves  could  pass 
through;  the  people  must  be  such  as  we 
can  understand.  They  may  well  be  ex- 
ceptional, for  that  enlists  our  interest  and 
enlivens  our  curiosity;  they  must  not  be 
beyond  our  comprehension  nor  outside 
our  spiritual  pale,  for  then  we  could  have 
no  sympathy  with  them,  and  our  hearts 
would  only  grow  cold  as  we  read. 

And  what  is  at  the  base  of  our  sym- 
vi 


pathy  and  interest?  Nothing  but  our 
common  life.  They,  too,  —  all  the  glad 
or  sorrowing  children  of  imaginative 
literature  from  Helen  of  Troy  to  Helena 
Richie  —  are  travelers  like  ourselves  on 
the  great  highway.  We  know  well  how 
difficult  a  road  it  is,  how  rough,  how 
steep,  how  dangerous,  how  boggy,  how 
lined  with  pitfalls,  how  bordered  with 
gardens  of  deadly  delights,  how  beset 
by  bandits,  how  noisy  with  fakirs,  how 
overhung  with  poisonous  fruit  and  swept 
by  devastating  storms.  We  know  also 
what  stretches  of  happiness  are  there, 
what  days  of  friendship,  what  hours  of 
love,  what  sane  enjoyment,  what  raptur- 
ous content. 

How  should  we  not,  then,  be  interested 
in  all  that  goes  by  upon  that  great  road? 
We  like  to  sit  at  our  comfortable  win- 
dows, when  the  fire  is  alight  or  the  sum- 
mer air  is  soft,  and  "  watch  the  pass,"  as 
vii 


they  say  in  Nantucket,  —  what  our 
neighbours  are  about,  and  what  strangers 
are  in  town.  If  we  live  in  a  small  com- 
munity, there  is  the  monotony  of  our 
daily  routine  to  be  relieved.  When  an 
unknown  figure  passes  down  the  street, 
we  may  enjoy  the  harmless  excitement  of 
novelty  and  taste  something  of  the  keen 
savour  of  adventure.  If  we  are  dwellers 
in  a  great  city,  where  every  passer  is  un- 
known, there  is  still  the  discoverer's  zest 
in  larger  measure;  every  moment  is 
great  with  possibility;  every  face  in  the 
throng  holds  its  secret;  every  figure  is 
eloquent  of  human  drama.  The  pageant 
is  endless,  its  story  never  finished.  Who, 
indeed,  could  not  be  spellbound,  behold- 
ing that  countless  changing  tatterdemal- 
ion caravan  go  by?  Yet  all  we  may 
hope  for  of  the  inner  history  of  these 
journeying  beings,  so  humanly  amazing, 
so  significant,  and  all  moved  like  our- 
viii 


foreword 

selves  by  springs  of  joy  and  fear,  hope 
and  discouragement,  is  a  glimpse  here 
and  there,  a  life-story  revealed  in  a  single 
gesture,  a  tragic  history  betrayed  in  the 
tone  of  a  voice  or  the  lifting  of  a  hand, 
or  perhaps  a  heaven  of  gladness  in  a 
glancing  smile.  For  the  most  part  their 
orbits  are  as  aloof  from  us  as  the  courses 
of  the  stars,  potent  and  mystic  manifesta- 
tions of  the  divine,  glowing  puppets  of 
the  eternal  masked  in  a  veil  of  flesh. 

This  was  the  pomp  of  history  which 
held  the  mind  of  Shakespeare,  of 
Dickens,  of  Cervantes,  of  Balzac,  in 
thrall,  and  drew  the  inquiring  eye  of 
Browning  and  Whitman,  of  Stevenson 
and  Borrow,  with  so  charmed  and  com- 
prehending a  look.  To  understand  and 
set  down  faithfully  some  small  portion 
of  the  tale  of  this  ever  changing  proces- 
sion, which  is  for  ever  appearing  over  the 
sunrise  hills  of  to-morrow  and  passing 
ix 


yoreworfr 

into  the  twilight  valleys  of  yesterday,  is 
the  engrossing  task  of  the  novelist  and  the 
teller  of  tales. 

How  well  that  task  is  accomplished,  is 
the  measure  of  the  story-teller's  power. 
He  may  pick  his  characters  from  homely 
types  that  we  know,  and  please  us  with 
the  familiar;  or  he  may  paint  for  us  some 
portion  of  the  great  pageant  that  has 
never  passed  our  door,  and  raise  us  with 
the  mystery  of  unaccustomed  things.  In 
either  case  he  will  touch  our  hearts  by 
revealing  the  hidden  springs  of  action  in 
his  chosen  men  and  women.  He  will  en- 
large the  borders  of  our  mental  vision 
and  illumine  our  appreciation  by  his 
greater  insight,  greater  knowledge,  finer 
reasoning.  In  his  magic  mirror  we  shall 
not  only  see  more  of  life  than  we  saw  be- 
fore, but  we  shall  see  it  more  clearly, 
more  penetratingly,  more  wonderfully. 
And  ever  afterwards,  as  we  look  on  the 
x 


Iforewort) 

world  we  know,  life  which  perhaps  used 
to  seem  to  us  so  commonplace,  and  events 
which  used  to  seem  such  a  matter  of 
course,  will  take  on  a  significance,  a  dig- 
nity, a  glamour,  which  they  never  before 
possessed,  —  or,  to  speak  more  truly, 
which  they  always  possessed,  indeed,  but 
which  we  had  not  the  power  to  see. 
This  is  the  great  educative  use  of  crea- 
tive literature;  it  teaches  us  to  look  on 
the  world  with  more  understanding,  to 
confront  it  in  manlier  fashion,  to  appre- 
ciate the  priceless  gift  of  life  more 
widely  and  generously,  and  so  to  live 
more  fully  and  efficiently  and  happily. 

The  great  opportunity  of  literature, 
then,  and  its  great  responsibility,  are 
evident.  As  Matthew  Arnold  put  it, 
"  The  future  of  poetry  is  immense."  In 
an  age  when  men  and  women  are  coming 
more  and  more  to  do  their  own  thinking 
and  form  their  own  ethical  judgments, 
xi 


foreword 

the  power  and  moral  obligation  of  letters 
must  tend  to  increase  rather  than  to 
diminish.  It  is  an  encouraging  sign  of 
the  times  and  of  growing  intelligence, 
that  we  demand  a  greater  veracity  in 
our  stories,  and  like  writers  who  find 
significance  and  charm  in  common  sur- 
roundings. Our  genuine  appreciation 
has  produced  a  very  real  national  litera- 
ture, great  in  amount  and  often  reach- 
ing true  eminence  and  distinction  in 
quality.  Books  like  Miss  Alice  Brown's 
"  Meadow  Grass  "  and  "  Country  Neigh- 
bours "  are  at  once  truly  native  and  full 
of  the  dignity  and  poetry  and  humour  of 
life.  At  their  best  they  reveal  depths  of 
human  feeling  and  experience  with  a 
telling  insight  and  sympathy,  and  with  a 
felicity  of  style,  which  belong  only  to 
masterpieces  of  fiction. 

To  this  charming  province  in  the  wide 
domain  of  letters  "  Travelers  Five  "  be- 
xii 


longs,  and  Mrs.  Annie  Fellows  Johns- 
ton's many  admirers  must  congratulate 
themselves  on  its  appearance,  as  they  stir 
the  fire  of  an  autumn  afternoon.  Here 
once  more  we  may  sit  as  at  a  pleasant 
window  and  "  watch  the  pass "  on  the 
great  highway.  Here  you  shall  see 
approaching,  in  that  delightful  and  mot- 
ley cavalcade,  Irish  Jimmy  in  his  ranch- 
man's dress,  his  warm  Celtic  heart  urging 
him  on-  up  the  obscure  trail  of  unselfish 
good;  here,  grotesque  old  Gid  Wiggan, 
flouting  the  shows  of  fashion,  yet  him- 
self a  showman  conspicuous  in  the  greater 
show  of  life;  here,  the  old  story,  a  fine 
gentleman's  sense  and  feeling  masquera- 
ding under  the  antics  of  a  traveling 
clown;  next,  an  embarrassed  villager 
with  something  like  greatness  thrust 
upon  him;  and  last,  another  strange 
example  of  silent  persistent  New  Eng- 
land idealism,  too  proud  to  confess  itself 
xiii 


and  only  reaching  its  goal  through  a  life- 
time of  repression  and  apparent  failure. 

But  I  am  obstructing  your  view  while 
I  prate!  Forgive  me.  I  will  step  aside 
and  let  you  have  the  window  to  your- 
self, so  that  you  may  quietly  observe  these 
Travelers  going  by. 


NEW  CANAAN,  CONN., 
26  September,  1911. 


XIV 


Contents 


PAQH 

ft  be  jf  irst  traveler.  3tmm£ 

On  tbe  Stall  of  tbe  Idtee  /nben    ....        I 


Secono  traveler.   (Mo 
In  tbe  TKflafte  of  a  DoneBmoon    ....     55 

Hbe  Ubir5  traveler,  ttbe  Clown 

t>i0  BccoIaOc     ......      91 


Ubc  jfourtb  traveler. 
Snatbers 

ot  an  I  nberttefc  Citcu0  ....    131 


ffiftb  traveler.  J5ap.  Sloan 

1>10  Aount  or  ptofiab  ......  159 


traveler 


©n  Ube  Urail  of  tbe  Timise  flDen 


jfive 

Hlons  Xife's 


traveler 


3tmm$ 
<S>n  tbe  TTrail  of  tbe  TKHtse  jflDen 

ORDINARILY  a  fleck  of  cigar 
ashes  in  the  pot  of  mashed  po- 
tatoes would  not  have  caused  a 
row  in  the  ranch  kitchen,  but  to-day  old 
Jimmy  had  had  a  sup  too  much.     At 
such  times  the  mere  sight  of  Matsu,  the 
Japanese    cook,    could    provoke    him    to 
oaths,  and  it  was  Matsu  who  had  unwit- 
tingly dropped  the  ashes  into  the  pot,  as 
he  laid  his  cigar  stump  on  the  shelf  above 
the  stove,  preparatory  to  dishing  up  .din- 
ner. 
Time  was  when  Jimmy  had  been  the 

3 


travelers  five 


cook  at  Welsh's  ranch,  and  had  had  it  all 
his  own  way  in  the  greasy  adobe  kitchen. 
But  that  was  before  Ben  Welsh's  last 
round-up.  Since  then  his  widow  had 
been  obliged  to  turn  part  of  the  cattle- 
ranch  into  a  boarding  camp  for  invalids ; 
the  part  that  lay  in  a  narrow  strip  along 
the  desert.  Health-seekers  paid  better 
than  cattle  or  alfalfa  she  found. 

Many  things  came  in  with  the  new  ad- 
ministration. Matsu  was  one  of  them,  in 
his  white  chef's  cap  and  jacket.  The 
spotless  linen  was  a  delight  to  the  board- 
ers, but  to  Jimmy,  deposed  to  the  rank 
of  hewer  of  wood  and  drawer  of  water, 
it  was  the  badge  of  the  usurper.  Natu- 
rally enough  his  jealousy  took  the  form 
of  making  Matsu  live  up  to  his  linen,  and 
he  watched  him  like  a  cat  for  the  slight- 
est lapse  from  cleanliness. 

This  constant  warfare  with  Matsu  was 
one  of  the  few  diversions  the  camp  af- 
4 


first  traveler 


forded,  and  every  man  made  much  of  it. 
Had  he  been  let  alone,  old  Jimmy  would 
have  accepted  the  situation  as  merely  one 
more  ill-turn  of  Fate,  which  had  left  him 
as  usual  at  the  bottom  of  the  wheel.  But 
his  futile  resentment  was  too  funny  a 
thing  for  his  tormentors  to  allow  to  die 
out. 

It  was  a  remark  made  early  that  morn- 
ing which  set  him  to  brooding  over  his 
wrongs,  and  finally  led  to  the  sup  too 
much  which  precipitated  the  fight  over 
the  potato-pot.  Batty  Carson  made  it,  in 
a  hoarse  whisper,  all  the  voice  left  to  him 
since  the  grippe  sent  him  West  in  his 
senior  year.  (He  had  been  the  best  tenor 
in  his  college  glee-club.)  Jimmy  was 
moving  a  table  into  the  shadow  of  the 
tents,  in  order  that  the  daily  game  of 
poker  might  begin.  Poker  was  all  there 
was  in  that  God-forsaken  desert  to  save 
a  man's  reason,  Batty  declared,  so  they 

5 


travelers  jflve 


played  it  from  breakfast  till  bed-time. 
As  the  usual  group  joined  him  around 
the  table,  he  opened  a  new  deck  of  cards 
and  began  shuffling  it.  Automatically 
he  found  the  joker  and  flipped  it  out  of 
the  pack.  It  fell  face  up  on  the  dry  Ber- 
muda grass  and  old  Jimmy  stooped  to 
pick  it  up. 

Batty  stopped  him  with  a  laugh.  "  A 
seasoned  old  poker  player  like  you  stoop- 
ing to  pick  up  the  joker!"  he  teased. 
"  You  know  well  enough  only  one  game 
goes  on  this  ranch,  and  the  joker's  no 
good  in  that"  Then  he  winked  at  the 
others. 

"  That's  what  you'll  be  after  awhile, 
Jimmy,  if  you  don't  stand  up  for  your 
rights  better  than  you  are  doing.  Matsu 
will  be  taking  every  trick  in  the  game, 
and  you'll  count  for  nothing  more  than 
just  the  joker  of  the  pack." 

Jimmy  flared  up  with  an  indignant 
6 


Jfiret  traveler 


oath  at  the  laugh  which  followed,  tore 
the  card  in  two,  and  would  have  gone  off 
muttering  vengeance  on  Batty  himself, 
had  not  the  young  fellow  stopped  him 
and  teased  him  back  into  good  humour. 
But  the  remark  rankled  afterward  be- 
cause there  was  such  a  large  element  of 
truth  in  it.  Jimmy  was  no  fool  even  if 
he  was  slow-witted.  He  knew  as  well  as 
any  one  else  that  he  had  never  counted 
for  much  in  any  game  Life  had  ever 
given  him  a  hand  in.  He  brooded  over 
the  fact  until  some  sort  of  solace  was 
necessary.  After  that  he  burned  for  an 
occasion  to  assert  himself.  It  came  when 
Mrs.  Welsh  called  to  him  to  fill  the 
wood-box.  Just  as  he  threw  down  his 
first  armful  of  mesquite,  the  accident  be- 
fell the  potatoes,  and  he  waited  to  see 
what  Matsu  would  do. 

What   could    Matsu   do   with   sixteen 
hungry  men  listening  for  the  dinner  bell, 

7 


travelers  five 


but  scoop  out  a  big  spoonful  from  the 
side  of  the  pot  where  the  ashes  had  fallen, 
toss  it  out  of  the  window  and  heap  the 
rest  of  the  white  fluffy  mass  into  the  hot 
dish  awaiting  it?  Jimmy  would  have 
done  the  same  in  his  day  but  now  he  thun- 
dered, "  Throw  out  the  whole  potful,  you 
pig  of  a  heathen !  Do  you  want  to  drive 
away  every  boarder  on  the  ranch  with 
your  dirty  tricks?  Throw  it  out,  I  say." 

With  the  good-nature  that  rarely  failed 
him,  Matsu  only  shrugged  his  shoulders, 
giggled  his  habitual  giggle  and  pro- 
ceeded, unmoved  by  threats. 

"  Go  get  'notha  drink,"  he  advised,  as 
Jimmy  continued  to  glare  at  him. 
"  Make  you  have  heap  much  betta  feel- 
ing. Not  so  big  mad.  Go  get  full." 

Dinner  was  twenty  minutes  late  that 

day.    The  boarders  heard  the  reason  from 

Hillis,  who  came  in  in  his  shirt  sleeves 

to  wait  on  the  table,  in  place  of  Mrs. 

8 


first  traveler 


Welsh.  Hillis  was  the  dish-washer,  a 
tall  big-fisted  lumberman  from  Maine, 
who,  stranded  at  the  close  of  an  ill- 
starred  prospecting  tour,  had  taken  tem- 
porary service  in  Mrs.  Welsh's  kitchen. 
He  talked  cheerfully  of  the  disturbance 
as  he  clumped  around  the  table,  thrusting 
the  dishes  at  each  boarder  in  turn.  They 
forgave  his  awkwardness  in  their  inter- 
est in  the  fight. 

"Jimmy  began  it,"  he  told  them. 
"  Swung  on  to  the  pot  and  tried  to  pull 
it  away  from  Jappy  and  throw  out  the 
stuff  himself.  But  Jappy  wouldn't  have 
it,  and  batted  him  one  on  the  head  with 
the  potato  masher.  Then  Jimmy  went  in 
for  blood,  and  grabbed  the  meat-knife, 
and  would  have  put  it  into  him  in  a  pair 
of  seconds  if  I  hadn't  tripped  him  up  and 
sat  on  him.  There  was  a  hot  time  in 
there  for  a  spell,  the  air  was  blue.  Old 
Jimmy  cussin'  for  all  he  was  worth  in 
9 


{Travelers  jfive 


the  sand-flapper  lingo,  and  Matsu  going 
him  one  better  every  time  in  his  pigeon 
English!" 

"  I  suppose  they'll  both  throw  up  their 
jobs  now,"  remarked  a  dyspeptic  looking 
man  near  the  foot  of  the  table.  "  I 
thought  it  was  too  good  to  last,  and  this 
God-forsaken  Arizona  desert  can't  hold 
more  than  one  chef  like  Matsu.  He's 
the  perfection  of  his  kind.  I'd  feel  like 
hitting  the  trail  myself  if  he  should 

go." 

"That's  what  Mrs.  Welsh  is  afraid 
of,"  replied  Hillis.  "  She's  out  there  now 
trying  to  patch  up  the  peace  with  him 
and  coax  him  to  stay.  She  told  me  not  to 
tell  you  about  the  potatoes  —  thought  it 
might  turn  some  of  you  against  your 
victuals;  but  it's  too  blamed  funny  to 
keep." 

"  For  my  part  I  hope  she'll  patch  up 
the  peace  with  Jimmy,  too,"  said  Batty 
10 


jfirst  traveler 


Carson  in  his  hoarse  whisper.  "  He's  the 
only  amusing  thing  in  all  this  howling 
wilderness.  His  being  so  far  off  the 
track  himself  makes  it  all  the  funnier 
when  he  goes  to  playing  human  guide- 
post  for  everybody  else." 

"  He'll  get  his  neck  wrung  a-doing  it 
sometime,"  rejoined  Hillis.  "  I  told  him 
so  when  he  came  fussing  around  at  first, 
sticking  his  fingers  in  my  dish-water  to 
see  if  it  was  hot  enough  to  kill  germs. 
I  told  him  I'd  scald  him  instead  of  the 
dishes  if  he  didn't  let  me  alone.  But  it's 
just  his  way  I  suppose.  He's  been  here 
off  and  on  ever  since  Welsh  bought  the 
ranch." 

"  It's  off  this  time,"  came  Batty's 
croaking  whisper.  "  There  he  goes  now. 
Whew!  He's  hot!  Just  watch  him  hump 
himself  along! " 

The  eight  men  whose  backs  were 
toward  the  window,  turned  in  their  chairs 
ii 


^Travelers  five 


to  follow  the  gaze  of  the  others.  They 
had  a  glimpse  of  a  tall  spare  figure, 
hurrying  stiffly  past  the  house  as  fast  as 
his  rheumatic  joints  would  allow.  There 
was  anger  in  every  line  of  it.  Even  the 
red  bandana  around  his  throat  seemed  to 
express  it.  The  fierce  curves  of  his  old 
hat-brim,  the  bristling  hairs  of  his  griz- 
zly mustache,  the  snap  of  his  lean  jaws 
as  the  few  snags  left  in  his  sunken  gums 
opened  and  shut  on  a  quid  of  tobacco,  all 
told  of  an  inward  rage  which  would  be 
long  in  cooling. 

"  Well,  it's  all  over  now,"  announced 
Hillis  a  moment  later,  coming  back  from 
the  kitchen  with  a  bowl  of  hot  gravy. 
"  Jimmy  vowed  one  of  them  had  to  go, 
so  Mrs.  Welsh  said  he'd  have  to  be  that 
one.  She  could  get  a  Mexican  to  chop 
wood  and  carry  water,  but  she  couldn't 
get  another  cook  like  Matsu.  And 
Jimmy's  that  mad  and  insulted  and  hurt 
12 


jfirst  traveler 


he  can't  get  off  the  place  fast  enough. 
He's  gone  now  to  pack  his  kit,  muttering 
as  if  he'd  swallowed  a  lot  of  distant  thun- 
.der." 

A  laugh  went  around  the  long  table. 
Usually  the  meals  proceeded  in  silence 
except  for  a  few  spasmodic  outbursts. 
Sitting  all  day  in  the  sun,  gazing  at  the 
monotonous  desert  landscape  while  one 
waits  for  winter  to  crawl  by,  is  not  a  con- 
versational stimulant.  But  to-day,  even 
Maidlow,  the  grumpiest  invalid  in  the 
lot,  forgot  his  temperature  and  himself 
in  adding  his  mite  to  the  fund  of  anec- 
dotes passing  around  the  table  about 
Jimmy.  The  conversation  was  less  re- 
strained than  usual  in  the  absence  of  the 
only  lady  and  child  which  the  ranch 
boasted.  The  Courtlands  were  spending 
the  day  in  Phoenix,  so  there  were  three 
vacant  chairs  at  the  foot  of  the  table. 
One  was  a  child's  high-chair  with  a  bib 
13 


travelers  jfive 


hanging  over  its  back.  Hillis  laid  his 
hand  on  it  in  passing. 

"  Here's  one  that  will  miss  the  old 
rain-crow,"  he  said,  as  if  glad  to  find 
some  good  word  about  Jimmy.  "  Little 
Buddy  Courtland  comes  about  as  near 
loving  him  as  anybody  could,  I  guess. 
He'll  miss  him." 

"  It's  Dane  Ward  who'll  really  miss 
him,"  declared  the  dyspeptic,  glancing 
out  of  the  window  at  the  farthest  row  of 
tents  to  the  one  at  the  end  whose  screen 
door  was  closed.  "  Now  Jimmy's  gone 
I  don't  see  what  that  poor  fellow  will  do 
when  he  needs  some  one  to  sit  up  with 
him  of  nights." 

"  That's  right,"  agreed  Batty  Carson. 
"Jimmy's  been  his  right  bower  ever 
since  he  came.  I'll  give  the  old  devil 
credit  for  that  much." 

While  they  talked,  Jimmy,  outside  in 
the  shack  which  he  shared  with  Hillis, 
14 


ffirat  traveler 


was  gathering  up  in  a  furious  rage  his 
small  bundle  of  belongings,  cursing 
darkly  as  he  threw  boots,  shirts  and  over- 
alls into  a  confused  heap  in  the  middle 
of  his  bunk.  Near  at  hand  the  tents 
stood  empty  in  the  December  sun;  five 
rows  of  them,  four  in  a  row  with  twenty 
foot  spaces  between.  Each  canvas-cov- 
ered screen  door  swung  open,  and  out- 
side sat  a  camp  chair  or  a  big  wooden 
rocker,  with  blanket  or  overcoat  trailing 
across  it,  just  as  its  occupant  had  left  it 
to  go  in  to  dinner.  A  litter  of  news- 
papers and  magazines  lay  all  around  on 
the  dry  Bermuda  grass. 

There  was  one  exception.  One  screen 
door  was  closed,  that  of  the  farthest  tent 
on  the  back  row  in  line  with  Jimmy's 
shack.  A  sound  of  coughing  —  choked, 
convulsive  coughing,  had  been  coming 
from  that  direction  for  several  minutes, 
but  the  sound  did  not  penetrate  Jimmy's 
15 


travelers  five 


consciousness  until  he  heard  his  name 
called  in  an  agonized  tone.  He  craned 
his  head  out  to  listen.  The  call  came 
again  in  a  frantic  gasp: 

"Jimmy!  Jimmy!  Oh,  somebody 
come ! " 

Then  he  recognized  the  voice.  It  was 
Dane  Ward  calling  him.  In  his  row 
with  Matsu  he  had  forgotten  the  boy; 
forgotten  that  he  was  to  carry  him  his 
dinner  and  give  him  his  medicine.  He 
remembered  with  a  pang  of  self-reproach 
that  he  had  promised  to  come  back  with 
fresh  wood  as  soon  as  he  had  carried  an 
armful  of  wood  to  the  kitchen.  He 
started  off  on  a  stiff  jog-trot  towards  the 
tent. 

A  moment  later,  maybe  not  even  so 
long  as  that,  for  as  he  ran  he  knew  that 
he  might  be  racing  against  death,  he 
dashed  into  the  kitchen  which  he  had 
sworn  never  again  to  enter,  and  caught 
16 


Gbe  jfirst  traveler 


up  a  handful  of  salt.  Hillis,  thinking  he 
had  lost  his  mind,  almost  dropped  the 
tray  of  dessert  dishes  he  was  holding  for 
Matsu  to  fill;  but  Mrs.  Welsh  recogni- 
zing the  import  of  Jimmy's  act,  followed 
without  question  as  he  called  back  over 
his  shoulder,  "It's  Dane!  The  worst 
hemorrhage  the  lad's  had  yet." 

Hillis  carried  the  news  into  the  dining 
room  with  the  dessert.  Big  and  strong, 
never  having  had  a  sick  day  in  his  life, 
he  could  not  know  the  effect  it  would 
produce,  and  Mrs.  Welsh  had  not 
thought  to  warn  him.  The  room  grew 
silent.  It  was  what  might  happen  to  any 
one  of  them;  had  happened  in  fact  to  all. 
The  apprehension  of  it  was  the  skeleton 
at  their  every  feast.  First  one  man  and 
then  another  pushed  back  his  plate  and 
went  out  into  the  sunshine.  They  all 
liked  Dane,  the  shy,  quiet  boy  from  some 
village  in  the  New  York  hills.  That  was 


^Travelers 


all  they  knew  of  him,  for  he  always  sat 
apart.  Sometimes  there  was  a  book  in 
his  lap  but  he  rarely  read  —  just  sat  and 
gazed  off  towards  the  east  with  a  hungry 
look  in  his  big  grey  eyes.  The  homesick 
longing  of  them  was  heart-breaking  to 
see. 

They  went  back  to  their  chairs  and 
their  naps  and  their  newspapers,  but  the 
usual  afternoon  monotony  was  broken  by 
the  interest  centering  in  the  farthest  tent 
in  the  last  row.  They  glanced  up  fur- 
tively every  time  the  door  opened.  It 
swung  many  times  in  the  course  of  the 
afternoon,  for  Mrs.  Welsh  to  go  in  and 
out,  for  the  doctor  to  make  a  hurried 
visit,  for  Jimmy  to  come  and  go  with 
crushed  ice  and  clean  towels,  a  spoon  or 
a  pitcher  of  fresh  water. 

For  Jimmy,  in  his  anxious  ministra- 
'tions,  forgot  his  fight  with  Matsu,  forgot 
that  he  had  had  no  dinner,  and  that  he 
18 


first  traveler 


was  in  the  midst  of  preparations  for  leav- 
ing the  ranch.  The  ugly  facts  did  not 
come  back  to  him  till  several  hours  had 
passed.  Then  he  started  up  from  the 
chair  beside  Dane's  bed  and  tip-toed 
heavily  across  the  floor.  He  would  fin- 
ish making  up  his  bundle  while  the  boy 
was  asleep.  The  danger  was  past  now. 
If  he  could  get  down  to  the  Tempe  road 
before  dark,  probably  he  could  catch  a 
ride  the  rest  of  the  way  into  Phoenix.  A 
board  creaked  and  Dane  opened  his 
eyes. 

"  I  wasn't  asleep,"  he  said  weakly. 
"  Hand  me  that  little  picture  off  the 
bureau,  won't  you,  Jimmy?  "  Then  as 
his  fingers  closed  over  it  — "  And  roll 
the  canvas  to  the  top  of  the  door  please. 
I  can't  see." 

Jimmy  sat  down  again,  impelled  by 
the  pitifulness  of  the  thin  white  face.  He 
knew  the  picture,  having  examined  it 
19 


travelers 


privately  on  several  occasions  while 
sweeping  the  tent.  It  was  a  tin-type  of 
two  laughing  school-girls,  with  their 
arms  around  each  other.  It  was  plain  to 
him  that  one  was  Dane's  sister.  He 
guessed  the  relationship  of  the  other 
when  he  saw  that  it  was  on  the  face  un- 
like his  that  Dane's  wistful  eyes  rested 
longest.  Presently  he  slipped  it  under 
his  pillow  and  lay  so  still  that  Jimmy 
thought  he  was  asleep,  until  he  saw  a  tear 
slipping  slowly  from  under  the  closed 
eye-lids.  Involuntarily  the  rough  hand 
went  out  and  closed  in  a  sympathetic 
grasp  over  the  white  fingers  on  the  cover- 
let. Dane  bit  his  lip  to  hide  their  twitch- 
ing and  then  broke  out  bitterly,  but  in  a 
voice  so  weak  that  it  came  in  gasps: 

"That  doctor  back  home  lied  to  me! 
He  lied!    He  knew  that  I  was  past  sa- 
ving when  he  sent  me  out  here.  He  ought 
to  have  told  me.     Do  you  suppose  I'd 
20 


Gbe  jftret  traveler 


have  let  my  mother  mortgage  her  home 
-  all  she  had  in  the  world  —  to  send  me, 
if  he  hadn't  led  us  to  believe  that  the 
Arizona  climate  could  work  a  miracle? 
He  made  it  so  certain  that  I'd  get  well 
right  away,  it  seemed  suicidal  not  to  take 
the  chance." 

He  stopped,  almost  strangled  by  a 
paroxysm  of  coughing,  lay  panting  for  a 
moment,  and  then  began  again,  despite 
Jimmy's  warning  that  it  would  make 
him  worse  to  talk. 

"  Mother  can  never  pay  out  without 
my  help,  and  I've  got  to  lie  here  to  the 
end  and  think  of  what's  in  store  for  her 
and  Sis,  and  then  —  die  and  be  buried 
out  here  in  this  awful  desert!  It'll  cost 
too  much  to  be  sent  back  home.  Oh,  how 
could  a  man  lie  like  that  to  a  person  that's 
dying?  " 

The  question  staggered  Jimmy  a  mo- 
ment. He  turned  his  eyes  uneasily  from 
21 


Gravelere  jfive 


Dane's  piercing  gaze  in  order  that  he 
might  lie  cheerfully  himself. 

"  What  are  you  thinking  about  dying 
for? "  he  demanded  in  his  bluff  way. 
"  You'll  be  better  than  ever  after  this 
spell.  It  sort  of  cleaned  out  your  pipes 
you  know.  You'll  be  busting  bronchos 
with  the  best  of  them  by  spring  if  you 
keep  up  your  courage.  Look  at  Mr. 
Courtland  now.  He  was  worse  off  than 
you  when  he  came,  a  heap  sight.  Had 
to  be  brought  on  a  stretcher.  His  get- 
ting well." 

"  No,  it's  different  —  everyway,"  an- 
swered Dane  wearily.  "  He's  got  his 
family  with  him,  and  money  and  — 
everything.  I  haven't  even  my  mother's 
picture.  She  never  had  any  taken.  If  I 
had  even  that  when  the  end  comes  it 
wouldn't  seem  quite  so  lonesome.  But  to 
think  of  all  strange  faces,  and  afterwards 
—  to  lie  among  strangers  hundreds  of 

22 


jfirst  traveler 


miles  away  from  home  —  oh,  it  nearly 
makes  me  crazy  to  think  of  the  miles 
and  miles  of  cactus  and  sand  between 
us!  I  hate  the  sight  of  this  awful 
country." 

Jimmy  looked  out  through  the  open 
door  of  the  tent,  across  the  dreary  waste 
of  desert,  separated  from  the  camp  by 
only  the  irrigating  ditch,  and  the  unfre- 
quented highroad,  as  if  he  were  seeing 
it  in  a  new  light. 

"  'Spect  it  might  strike  a  fellow  as  sort 
of  the  end  of  nowhere  the  first  time  he 
sees  it,"  he  admitted.  "  I've  lived  here 
so  long  I  kind  of  like  it  myself.  But  I 
know  what  you're  craving  to  see.  I  lived 
back  in  the  hills  myself  when  I  was  a  kid. 
I  was  brought  up  in  York  state." 

Dane  raised  himself  on  his  elbow,  an 
excited  flush  on  his  face.  "  FOM,  from 
home,"  he  began.  "  New  York- 

Jimmy  pushed  him  back.  "You're 
23 


{Travelers  jfive 


getting  too  frisky,"  he  admonished. 
"  You'll  be  took  again  if  you  ain't  care- 
ful. Yes,  I  know  just  what  you're  pining 
for.  You  want  to  see  the  hills  all  red 
with  squaw  berries  or  pink  in  arbutus 
time;  and  the  mountain  brooks  —  noth- 
ing like  these  muddy  old  irrigating 
ditches  —  so  clear  you  can  see  the  peb- 
bles in  the  bottom,  and  the  trout  flipping 
back  and  forth  so  fast  you  can  hardly  see 
their  speckles.  But  Lord!  boy  —  you 
don't  want  to  go  back  there  now  in  mid- 
winter. The  roads  are  piled  up  with 
drifts  to  the  top  of  the  stone  fences  and 
the  boughs  of  the  sugar-bush  are  weighed 
down  with  snow  till  you'd  think  you  was 
walking  through  a  grove  of  Christmas 
trees." 

"  Oh,  go  on/"  pleaded  Dane,  as  he 

paused.     His   eyes   were   closed,   but   a 

smile  rested  on  his  face  as  if  the  scenes 

Jimmy  described  were  his  for  the  mo- 

24 


first  traveler 


ment.  "Jimmy,  it's  —  it's  like  heaven 
to  hear  you  talk  about  it!  Don't  stop." 

To  keep  the  smile  on  the  white  face, 
that  rapt,  ineffable  smile  of  content, 
Jimmy  talked  on.  Over  forty  years  lay 
between  him  and  the  scenes  he  was  re- 
calling. He  had  wandered  far  afield 
from  his  straight-going,  path-keeping 
Puritan  family.  He  had  been  glad  at 
times  that  they  had  lost  track  of  him,  and 
that  wherever  he  went  he  was  known 
only  as  "  Jimmy."  Gradually  the  remi- 
niscences like  the  touch  of  a  familiar 
hand  on  a  troubled  brow,  soothed  Dane 
into  forgetfulness  of  his  surroundings, 
and  he  fell  asleep  from  sheer  exhaustion. 

Just  at  dusk  that  evening,  when  Batty 
Carson  went  around  to  the  kitchen  for  his 
usual  glass  of  new  milk,  he  was  surprised 
to  see  Jimmy  down  by  the  wood-pile. 
He  was  vigorously  at  work,  helping  un- 
load a  wagon  of  mesquite,  and  quite  as 
25 


{Travelers  tfive 


vigorously  scolding  the  Indian  who  had 
brought  it  for  coming  so  late. 

'  Thought  he  was  going  to  leave," 
croaked  Batty,  nodding  towards  the 
wood-pile  as  he  took  the  glass  extended 
towards  him. 

Hillis  chuckled.  "  Says  he's  staying 
on  Dane's  account;  that  it  would  have 
touched  the  heart  of  a  coyote  the  way  he 
begged  not  to  be  left  to  die  among  stran- 
gers. It  seems  they're  both  from  the 
same  state,  so  they're  almost  claiming 
kin.  I  rather  guess  though,  that  when 
he'd  cooled  down  he  was  glad  of  any  old 
excuse  to  stay,  and  when  the  boy  begged 
him  and  Mrs.  Welsh  seconded  the  mo- 
tion, he  felt  he  could  give  in  without  any 
let-down  to  his  dignity." 

The  Indian,  gathering  up  his  reins, 
rattled  away  in  the  empty  wagon,  and 
Jimmy  began  to  fill  his  chip-basket,  sing- 
ing in  a  high,  tremulous  falsetto  as  he 
26 


first  traveler 


worked.  His  voice  had  been  his  pride 
in  his  youth.  It  was  still  sweet,  although 
it  cracked  at  times  on  the  higher  notes  - 

"  Wa-ait  for  me  at  heav-un's  gate, 
Swe-et  Belle  Mahone!" 

Hillis  laughed.  "  Sings  as  if  he  fairly 
feels  his  wings  sprouting.  It's  a  sure 
sign  he's  at  peace  with  the  world  when 
he  trots  out  those  sentimental  old  tunes. 
He  doesn't  sound  now  much  like  the  man 
who  was  in  here  this  noon,  cussin' 
and  slashing  around  with  a  butcher 
knife." 

But  Jimmy  had  not  forgotten.  He 
cooked  his  own  supper  that  night,  first 
ostentatiously  wiping  the  skillet  and 
everything  else  that  Matsu  had  touched, 
with  such  an  expression  of  disgust  on  his 
face  that  the  little  Jap's  fine  sense  of 
humour  was  tickled.  He  shrugged  his 
shoulders,  giggled  his  usual  jolly  giggle, 
27 


{Travelers  jftve 


and  afterwards  mimicked  the  whole 
scene  until  Mrs.  Welsh  and  Hillis  nearly 
choked  with  laughter. 

Dane  was  up  in  a  few  days,  able  to  go 
to  the  dining  room  and  to  drive  short 
distances.  Young  Mrs.  Courtland  spoke 
of  his  improvement  to  Jimmy  one  morn- 
ing as  they  watched  him  drive  away 
with  Hillis  in  the  ranch  surrey.  They 
were  going  to  a  neighbouring  orange 
grove  to  replenish  the  stock  in  the  store- 
room. Jimmy,  kneeling  in  the  path, 
mending  Buddy's  wooden  goat,  drove  a 
final  tack  before  he  straightened  himself 
to  answer. 

"No,  ma'am!"  he  said  emphatically. 
"  That  boy'll  never  be  what  is  to  say 
really  better.  When  he  tears  the  last  leaf 
off  that  calendar  in  his  tent  he  ain't  go- 
ing to  need  next  year's." 

Mrs.  Courtland  looked  up,  shocked, 
frightened.  "  He  seems  almost  as  well  as 
28 


jfiret  traveler 


my  husband,  and  he  is  going  to  get  well." 
She  said  it  defiantly. 

"  Sure,"  answered  Jimmy.  "  But  he 
isn't  dying  of  homesickness  and  worry 
along  with  his  lung  trouble.  He's  got 
you  and  Buddy  and  the  cash.  He  doesn't 
have  to  drive  himself  nearly  crazy  think- 
ing that  the  time  is  bound  to  come  when 
those  he  loves  best  will  be  left  without 
a  roof  over  their  heads  on  account  of 
him.  It  was  worse  than  cruel  —  it  was  a 
downright  crime  for  that  doctor  to  build 
their  hopes  up  so.  If  he'd  had  sense 
enough  to  doctor  a  June-bug  he'd  have 
seen  that  nothing  can  cure  the  lad.  To 
send  him  on  such  a  wild  goose  chase  is 
bad  enough,  but  to  send  him  alone  and 
as  poor  as  he  is  —  Good  Lord  - 

Jimmy  paused,  remembering  his  audi- 
ence, just  in  time  to  stop  the  malediction 
on  his  tongue. 

"  But,"  urged  Mrs.  Courtland,  uncon- 
29 


travelers  jfive 


sciously  moved  to  the  championship  of 
the  unknown  doctor  by  the  fact  that  her 
father  was  a  physician,  "  other  men  have 
come  alone  and  they  seem  to  be  getting 
on  all  right." 

"  Yes,  but  if  you  take  notice  they're  all 
the  kind  that  had  bucked  up  against  the 
world  before  they  got  sick,  and  were 
used  to  shifting  for  themselves.  Now 
there's  Batty  Carson.  He's  going  to  get 
well.  He  goes  about  it  as  if  he  was 
training  to  get  on  a  foot-ball  team.  So 
much  deep  breathing  every  so  often,  hot 
beef  juice  at  nine,  raw  eggs  at  ten,  fifty 
licks  at  the  wood-pile  at  eleven  —  What 
with  his  sun  baths  and  water  baths  and 
rubdowns,  looking  at  his  thermometer 
and  weighing  himself  and  feeling  his 
pulse  and  counting  his  breaths  and 
watching  the  clock,  he  ain't  got  time  to 
miss  his  folks.  Most  of  the  boarders 
this  year  happen  to  be  that  sort,  or  else 
30 


first  traveler 


they've  got  money  to  go  in  for  all  kinds 
of  amusements  that  make  them  forget 
their  troubles.  But  there  was  a  pitiful 
lot  of  cases  here  last  winter.  They  was 
too  far  gone  when  they  come  to  have  any 
fight  in  'em.  And  that's  what  I  say- 
it's  heartless  of  the  doctors  to  ship  them 
off  here  when  they've  only  one  chance  in 
a  thousand.  The  West  is  full  of  'em  and 
it  ain't  right." 

Batty  Carson,  shuffling  cards  at  the  lit- 
tle table  set  in  the  shade  behind  the  next 
tent,  looked  up  with  a  wink  when  he 
heard  his  name  mentioned.  The  others 
in  the  game  smiled  with  him  as  Jimmy 
went  on,  and  a  voice  from  one  of  the 
farther  tents  called,  "  Go  it,  Jimmy!  You 
ought  to  hire  a  hall  and  not  waste  all  that 
eloquence  on  a  lot  of  lungers  who  already 
vote  your  ticket.  Wish  you'd  bring  me 
a  box  of  matches  when  you  get  around 
to  it." 


Gravelere  five 


Taking  the  tents  in  order,  as  was  his 
custom,  emptying  slops  and  filling  pitch- 
ers, Jimmy  gradually  worked  his  way 
along  the  row  until  he  came  to  the  one 
outside  of  which  the  card-game  was  go- 
ing on  in  silence.  As  he  moved  around 
inside  setting  things  to  rights,  Batty  Car- 
son held  up  a  finger  and  winked. 

"  Listen!  "  he  whispered.  There  was  a 
clinking  of  bottles  on  the  wash-stand, 
then  a  soft  plash  into  the  slop-jar,  and 
Jimmy  cleared  his  throat  with  a  muffled 
"  kha-a-a  "  as  if  he  had  just  swallowed 
something  good. 

"  The  old  buzzard's  been  at  my  alco- 
hol bottle  again,"  whispered  Batty. 
"  Last  time  he  went  against  it  he  didn't 
leave  me  enough  for  one  good  rub-down, 
and  then  he  had  the  face  to  reel  off  a 
long  temperance  lecture  on  what  a  pity 
it  was  that  so  many  of  us  fellows  kept 
spirits  in  our  tents." 
32 


jfiret  traveler 


A  loud  laugh  followed  Jimmy  as  he 
walked  out  innocently  clinking  his  pails. 
There  was  a  smell  of  alcohol  in  his  wake. 
He  had  spilled  some  on  his  clothes.  Ig- 
norant of  the  cause  of  their  mirth  he 
looked  back  at  them  over  his  shoulder 
with  a  friendly  smile.  As  he  dropped 
the  bucket  into  the  cistern  out  by  the  bam- 
boo thicket,  his  voice  floated  back  in  a 
high  cracked  falsetto: 

"  Wa-ait  for  me  at  heav-un's  gate, 
Swe-et  Belle  Mahone!" 

Batty  laughed  again.  "  What  kind  of 
a  bet  will  you  fellows  put  up  on  Jimmy's 
prospect  of  even  getting  within  gun-shot 
of  heaven's  gate?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  never  bet  on  a  dead  certainty,"  an- 
swered the  man  whose  turn  it  was  to  play. 
"  He  knows  he's  sampled  about  every- 
thing that  goes  on  in  a  mining  camp  or 
anywhere  else  in  a  new  territory,  and  he's 
33 


travelers  five 


nothing  to  show  for  himself  that  St. 
Peter  could  take  as  a  passport.  But  he 
isn't  worrying,  as  long  as  he's  provided 
for  in  this  world.  His  pension  keeps  him 
in  clothes  and  tobacco  and  when  he's  too 
old  to  work  the  Soldiers'  Home  will  take 
him  in." 

"  He's  not  worrying  over  the  next 
world  either,"  some  one  else  added. 
"  Mrs.  Welsh  says  he  has  sixty  dollars 
salted  down  in  bank  that  he's  saved  to 
have  masses  said  for  the  repose  of  his 
soul.  Not  that  he's  tied  his  belief  to  any- 
thing in  particular,  but  he  once  had  a 
wife  back  in  his  young  days,  who  was 
one  of  the  faithful." 

"  Let  us  hope  that  particular  bank 
won't  suspend  payment,"  laughed  Batty, 
"  for  it's  his  only  hope  of  ever  joining  his 
Belle  Mahone." 

Dane  came  back  from  his  drive  with 
new  interest  in  life.  The  sight  of  the 
34 


jftrst  traveler 


olive  groves  and  almond  orchards,  the 
alfalfa  fields  and  acres  of  lemon  and 
orange  trees  lying  green  and  gold  be- 
tween the  irrigating  canals,  had  lured 
him  away  from  thoughts  of  his  condition. 
He  was  not  so  shy  and  speechless  that 
day  at  dinner.  He  even  walked  out  on 
the  desert  a  little  way  that  afternoon, 
with  Buddy  clinging  to  his  hand  to  pilot 
him  to  the  wonderful  nest  of  a  trap-door 
spider.  For  a  day  or  two  he  made  feeble 
efforts  to  follow  Batty  Carson's  example. 
Instead  of  watching  the  eastern  horizon 
he  watched  Mrs.  Courtland  ply  her  em- 
broidery needle  or  bead-work  loom,  pre- 
paring for  the  Christmas  now  so  near  at 
hand. 

But  it  was  only  a  few  days  till  he  was 
back  in  the  depths  again.  The  slightest 
exertion  exhausted  him.  Burning  with 
fever  he  clung  to  Jimmy,  talking  of  the 
white  hillsides  at  home,  the  icicles  on  the 
35 


travelers  jfive 


eaves,  the  snow-laden  cedars.  Then 
when  the  chill  came  again  he  shivered 
under  the  blankets  Jimmy  tucked  around 
him,  and  buried  his  face  in  the  pillow  to 
hide  the  tears  that  shamed  him. 

"  I  can't  help  it,"  he  gasped  at  last. 
"  I  hate  myself  for  being  so  babyish. 
But,  Jimmy,  it's  like  living  in  a  night- 
mare to  have  that  one  thought  haunt  me 
day  and  night.  I  don't  mind  the  dying 
—  I'll  be  glad  to  go.  It  racks  me  so  to 
cough.  But  it's  the  dying  so  far  away 
from  home  —  alone!  I  can't  go  without 
seeing  mother  once  more!  Just  once, 
Jimmy,  one  little  minute." 

The  old  man's  mouth  twitched.  There 
was  no  answer  to  that  kind  of  an  appeal. 

"  Mail!  "  called  a  voice  outside.  The 
ranch  wagon  had  come  back  from  Phoe- 
nix, and  Hillis  was  going  from  tent  to 
tent  with  the  letter-bag.  "  Mr.  Dane 
Ward,"  he  called.  "  One  letter  and  one 

36 


first  traveler 


package.  Christmas  is  beginning  a  week 
ahead  of  time,"  he  added  as  Jimmy  came 
to  the  door. 

Dane  sat  up  and  opened  the  letter  first, 
with  fingers  that  trembled  in  their  eager- 
ness. He  read  snatches  of  it  aloud,  his 
face  brightening  with  each  new  item  of 
interest. 

"  They're  going  to  have  an  oyster  sup- 
per and  a  Christmas  tree  for  the  Sunday- 
school.  And  Charlie  Morrow  broke  into 
the  mill-pond  last  Saturday,  and  the 
whole  skating  party  nearly  drowned  try- 
ing to  fish  him  out.  Mr.  Miller's  barn 
burned  last  week,  and  Ed  Morris  and 
May  Dawson  ran  away  and  were  mar- 
ried at  Beaver  Dam  Station.  It's  like 
opening  a  window  into  the  village  and 
looking  down  every  street  to  get  mother's 
letters.  I  can  see  everybody  that  passes 
by,  and  pretty  near  smell  what  people 
are  cooking  for  dinner.  She's  sending 

37 


{Travelers  jfive 


my  Christmas  present  a  week  ahead  of 
time,  because  from  what  I  wrote  about 
the  cold  nights  she  was  sure  I'd  need  it 
right  away.  Cut  the  string,  please, 
Jimmy." 

Two  soft  outing  flannel  shirts  rolled 
out  of  the  paper  wrapping.  Dane  spread 
them  on  the  bed  beside  him  with  fond 
touches. 

"  She  made  every  stitch  of  them  her- 
self," he  said  proudly,  smiling  as  he 
turned  the  page  for  the  last  sentence. 

"  Christmas  will  not  be  Christmas  to 
us  with  you  so  far  away,  dear  boy,  but 
we  are  going  to  be  brave  and  make  as 
merry  as  we  can,  looking  forward  to  the 
time  when  that  blessed  land  of  sunshine 
will  send  you  back  to  us,  strong  and 
well." 

The  letter  dropped  from  his  hands  and 
Jimmy  heard  him  say  with  a  shivering, 
indrawn  breath,  "  But  that  time  will 

38 


Jftrst  traveler 


never  come!  Never  1"  Then  catching 
up  the  mass  of  soft  flannel  as  if  it  brought 
to  him  in  some  way  the  touch  of  the  dear 
hands  that  had  shaped  it,  he  flung  him- 
self back  on  the  pillow,  burying  his  face 
in  it  to  stifle  the  sobs  that  would  slip  out 
between  his  clenched  teeth. 

"Never  go  home  again!"  he  moaned 
once.  "  God!  How  can  I  stand  it!" 
Then  in  a  pitiful  whisper,  "  Oh,  mother, 
I  want  you  so." 

Jimmy  got  up  and  tip-toed  softly  out 
of  the  tent. 

That  night,  Batty  Carson,  taking  his 
after-supper  constitutional,  strode  up  and 
down  outside  the  camp,  his  hands  in  his 
overcoat  pockets.  The  little  tents,  each 
with  a  lamp  inside,  throwing  grotesque 
shadows  on  the  white  canvas  walls,  made 
him  think  of  a  cluster  of  Chinese  lan- 
terns. Only  the  last  one  in  the  last  row 
39 


travelers 


was  dark,  and  moved  by  a  friendly  im- 
pulse to  ask  after  Dane's  welfare,  he 
strolled  over  towards  it.  Had  it  not  been 
for  the  odour  of  a  rank  pipe,  he  might 
have  stumbled  over  Jimmy,  in  the  camp 
chair  outside  Dane's  door. 

"  Playing  sentinel?  "  he  asked. 

"  No,  just  keeping  the  lad  company  a 
spell.  He  can't  bear  to  hear  them  kiotes 
howl." 

"  You're  lively  company,  I  must  say," 
bantered  Batty.  "  I  didn't  hear  much 
animated  conversation  as  I  came  up." 

Jimmy  glanced  over  his  shoulder. 
"  No,"  he  said  in  a  lower  tone.  "  He's 
asleep  now." 

Lighting  a  cigar,  Batty  unfolded  a 
camp  stool  which  was  leaning  against 
one  of  the  guy  ropes,  and  seated  himself. 
Jimmy  seemed  in  a  confidential  mood. 

"  I've  been  setting  here,"  he  began, 
"  studying  about  a  Christmas  present 
40 


Jfirst  traveler 


that  had  ought  to  be  made  this  year.  1 
ain't  got  no  call  to  make  it,  but  there's 
plenty  of  others  that  could  do  it  and 
never  miss  it.  I've  got  an  old  uncle  that 
sets  'em  up  now  and  then,  but  he  isn't 
liable  to  send  me  another  check  before 
February,  so  /  can't  do  it." 

"  Oh,  your  Uncle  Sam,"  laughed 
Batty,  remembering  Jimmy's  pension 
and  the  object  of  his  savings.  "  Well," 
speaking  slowly  between  puffs,  "  I'm  not 
counting  on  making  any  Christmas  pres- 
ents thisr  year  except  to  myself.  Being 
sick  makes  a  man  selfish,  I  suppose.  But 
if  I  have  to  be  exiled  out  here  in  the 
cactus  and  greasewood,  I  intend  to  make 
it  as  pleasant  for  myself  as  possible.  So 
I  know  what's  going  into  my  Christmas 
stocking:  the  dandiest  little  saddle  horse 
this  side  of  the  Mississippi,  and  a  rifle 
that  can  knock  the  spots  off  anything  in 
Salt  River  valley." 
4i 


{Travelers  jflve 


When  Jimmy  answered  his  voice  was 
still  lower,  for  a  cough  had  sounded  in 
the  tent  behind  them. 

"  Well,  Sandy  Claws  and  I  ain't  never 
been  acquainted,  so  to  speak.  I  neither 
give  or  get,  but  if  I  had  the  price  of  a 
saddle  horse  in  my  breeches  it  wouldn't 
go  into  my  stocking.  It  'ud  take  that  boy 
in  there  back  home  to  die,  as  fast  as  steam 
cars  can  travel.  A  man  would  almost  be 
justified  in  giving  up  his  hope  of  heaven 
to  give  a  poor  soul  the  comfort  that 
would  be  to  him." 

The  distant  barking  of  coyotes  sounded 
through  the  starlight.  Jimmy  pulled  at 
his  pipe  in  silence  and  Batty  sat  blowing 
wreaths  of  cigar  smoke  around  his  head 
until  a  woman's  voice  struck  musically 
across  the  stillness. 

"  Come,  little  son,  hug  father  Ted 
good  night." 

As  Batty  watched  the  shadow  panto- 
42 


first  traveler 


mime  on  the  white  canvas  walls  of  the 
tent  in  front  of  him,  the  baby  arms 
clasped  around  the  young  father's  neck, 
and  the  beautiful  girl  bending  over  them, 
laughing,  he  understood  the  miracle  that 
was  bringing  Courtland  back  from  the 
very  grave.  The  screen  door  slammed 
and  she  came  out  with  the  child  in  her 
arms,  a  golf-cape  wrapped  over  his  night- 
gown. Then  the  shadows  changed  to  the 
next  tent.  Buddy,  with  his  bare  pink 
toes  stretched  out  toward  the  little  drum 
stove,  sat  in  his  mother's  lap  and  listened 
to  the  good  night  story. 

It  was  a  Christmas  story  as  well,  and 
the  three  Wise  Men  in  quest  of  the  star- 
lit manger  came  out  of  the  shadows  of  a 
far-gone  past,  to  live  again  before  the 
glowing  wonder  of  a  little  child's  eyes. 
Once  he  glanced  over  his  shoulder  when 
she  told  of  the  silver  bells  jingling  on  the 
trappings  of  the  camels,  and  he  clasped 
43 


{Travelers  jfive 


his  dimpled  hands  with  a  long,  satisfied 
sigh  when  the  gifts  were  opened  at  last 
before  the  Christ-child's  cradle. 

"  An'  nen  the  little  king  was  so  glad," 
he  added,  lying  back  happily  against  his 
mother's  shoulder. 

"  Yes,  dear  heart." 

"  An'  the  little  king's  mothah  was 
glad,  too,"  he  persisted.  "  She  liked  peo- 
ple to  give  fings  to  her  little  boy." 

"  Oh  yes,  she  was  the  happiest  of  all. 
Now  shut  your  eyes,  little  son,  and  we'll 
rock-a-bye-baby-in-the-tree-top." 

The  two  shadows  were  merged  into 
one  as  the  rocking  chair  swayed  back  and 
forth  a  moment  in  time  to  a  low,  sweet 
crooning.  Then  Buddy  sat  up  straight 
and  laid  an  imperative  hand  on  the 
cheek  pressed  against  his  curly  hair. 

"Stop   singin',   Mothah   Ma'wy!"   he 
demanded.    "  I  want  to  go  there.    /  want 
to  take  'em  fings  to  make  'm  glad!" 
44 


jffrst  traveler 


She  tried  to  explain,  but  he  would  not 
be  appeased.  The  little  mouth  quivered 
with  disappointment.  "If  they're  all 
gone  away  up  to  heaven  how  can  I  find 
the  king,  Mothah  Ma'wy?  " 

"  Oh,  little  son,  we  still  have  the  star!  " 
she  cried,  clasping  him  close  and  kissing 
him. 

"  Show  it  to  me! "  he  demanded,  slip- 
ping from  her  lap  and  pattering  towards 
the  door  in  his  bare  feet.  She  caught 
him  up  again  with  more  kisses,  and  hold- 
ing him  close  began  to  grope  for  words 
simple  enough  to  make  it  plain  —  that 
the  Star  which  wise  men  follow  now, 
when  they  go  with  gifts  for  the  Christ- 
child's  gladdening,  is  the  Star  of  love 
and  good-will  to  men,  and  the  Way  lies 
near  at  hand  through  the  hearts  of  his 
poor  and  needy. 

When  she  finished  at  last,  Batty's  cigar 
had  gone  out,  and  Jimmy,  stirred  by 
45 


travelers  five 


some  old  memory  or  by  some  new  vision, 
was  staring  fixedly  ahead  of  him  with 
unseeing  eyes.  Neither  man  moved  un- 
til the  last  note  of  the  lullaby,  "  Oh  little 
town  of  Bethlehem,"  faltered  into  silence. 
Then  without  a  word,  each  rose  abruptly 
and  went  his  separate  way. 

It  was  reported  in  camp  next  day  at 
dinner  that  Dane  was  going  home,  and 
that  the  doctor  on  his  morning  rounds 
had  consented  to  engage  a  sleeper  for 
him  and  help  him  aboard  the  first  East- 
ern-bound train.  While  the  doctor  gave 
it  as  his  opinion  that  it  was  suicidal  for 
any  one  in  his  condition  to  go  back  to 
such  a  climate  in  mid-winter,  he  offered 
no  remonstrance.  Nor  could  any  one 
else  in  the  face  of  such  pathetic  joy  as 
Dane's,  over  his  unexpected  release. 

It  was  with  a  sigh  of  relief  that  Mrs. 
Welsh  turned  from  the  departing  car- 
nage   to    begin    her    preparations    for 
46 


Jfirst  traveler 


Christmas.  It  would  have  been  depress- 
ing for  all  the  camp  to  have  had  any  one 
in  their  midst  during  the  holidays  as  ill 
as  Dane;  besides  she  had  work  for 
Jimmy  other  than  nursing.  There  were 
trips  to  be  made  down  the  canal  after 
palm  leaves  and  the  coral  berries  of  the 
feathery  pepper  trees.  There  were  the 
dining-room  walls  to  be  covered  with 
those  same  Christmas  greens,  and  since 
Mrs.  Courtland  wished  it,  a  little  cedar 
to  be  brought  out  from  the  town  market, 
and  decked  for  the  centre  of  the  table. 

In  the  days  which  followed  Dane's  de- 
parture, Jimmy  was  so  rushed  with  extra 
work  that  gradually  he  began  to  ignore 
his  grudge  against  Matsu.  One  night, 
having  absent-mindedly  followed  Hillis 
in  filling  his  plate  from  the  pots  and  pans 
on  the  stove,  instead  of  cooking  for  him- 
self, he  thereafter  ate  whatever  Matsu 
prepared  without  comment. 
47 


travelers  fftve 


Maybe  the  mere  handling  of  the 
Christmas  symbols  induced  a  mellower 
mood,  for  when  the  last  taper  was  'in 
place  on  the  tinsel  decked  evergreen  he 
felt  so  at  peace  with  all  mankind  that  he 
included  the  little  heathen  in  his  invita- 
tion, when  he  called  Hillis  in  to  admire 
his  handiwork.  He  was  whistling  softly 
when  he  stepped  out  doors  from  the  di- 
ning-room, and  turned  the  latch  behind 
him.  The  shaggy  old  dog  rose  up  from 
the  door-mat  and  followed  him  as  he 
strolled  down  towards  the  highroad. 
He  was  in  his  shirt-sleeves,  for  the  dusk 
was  warm  and  springlike.  A  great  star 
hung  over  the  horizon. 

"  It's  Christmas  eve,  Banjo,"  he  said 
in  a  confidential  tone  to  the  dog.  "  I 
guess  Dane  is  home  by  this  time.  By 
rights  he  ought  to  have  got  there  this 
morning." 

Banjo  responded  with  a  friendly  wag 
48 


Gbe  jfiret  traveler 


and  crowded  closer  to  rub  his  head 
against  Jimmy.  For  the  twentieth  time 
that  day  the  old  man's  hand  stole  down 
into  his  empty  pocket  on  a  fruitless  er- 
rand. 

"  Nary  a  crumb,"  he  muttered,  "  and 
not  a  cent  left  to  get  one.  Banjo,  I'd  give 
both  ears  for  a  good  chaw  right  now. 
I'm  not  grudging  it,  but  I  sure  would  'a' 
held  back  a  dime  or  two  if  I  hadn't 
thought  there  was  another  plug  in  the 
shack." 

Banjo  bristled  up  and  growled. 

"Hush,  you  beast!"  scolded  Jimmy. 
"  You  ought  to  be  so  full  of  peace  and 
good-will  this  here  Christmas  eve  that 
there  wouldn't  be  room  for  a  single  growl 
in  your  ugly  old  hide.  I'd  be  if  I  could 
lay  teeth  on  the  chaw  I'm  hankering 
for.  What's  the  matter  with  you  any- 
how? " 

With  his  hand  on  the  dog's  head  to 
49 


Gravelera  five 


quiet  him,  he  peered  down  the  dim  road. 
A  boy  on  a  shaggy  Indian  pony  was 
loping  towards  him. 

"Is  this  Welsh's  ranch?"  he  called. 
"  Then  I've  got  a  telegram  for  somebody. 
It's  addressed  mighty  queer  —  just  says 
'Jimmy,  care  of  Mrs.  Clara  Welsh.'" 

"  Well,  I'm  a  —  greaser!  "  was  all  that 
Jimmy  could  ejaculate  as  he  reached  for 
the  yellow  envelope.  He  turned  it  over 
with  growing  curiosity.  "  First  telegram 
I  ever  got  in  my  life,  and  me  sixty  odd 
years,"  he  muttered. 

"  There's  a  dollar  charges  for  deliver- 
ing it  out  so  far,"  said  the  boy.  Jimmy's 
hand  went  down  into  his  pocket  again. 

"  I'll  have  to  go  to  the  house  for  it,"  he 
said.  "  You  wait." 

Then  he  waited  himself.  Batty  Car- 
son was  strolling  down  the  road.  It 
would  be  easier  to  apply  to  him  for  the 
loan  than  to  Mrs.  Welsh. 


first  traveler 


"  Has  the  old  uncle  died  and  left  you 
a  fortune?  "  laughed  Batty,  as  he  handed 
over  the  dollar. 

"  Blamed  if  I  can  make  out,"  answered 
Jimmy,  holding  the  scrap  of  paper  at 
arms  length  and  squinting  at  it.  "  I  ain't 
got  my  specs.  Here!  you  read  it." 

Batty,  taking  the  telegram,  read  in  his 
hoarse  whisper: 

"  Dane  arrived  safely  God  bless  you  Mat- 
thew twentyfive  forty. 

Harriet  Ward." 

Then  he  looked  up  for  an  explanation. 
Jimmy  was  staring  at  him  open-mouthed. 
"  Well,  if  that  ain't  the  blamedest  mes- 
sage ever  was,"  he  exclaimed.  "  I  don't 
know  any  sucker  named  Matthew.  Is 
the  woman  plumb  crazy?  " 

Batty  looked  up  from  the  second  read- 
ing, enlightened. 

"  No,  I  take  it  she  wanted  to  send  you 
some  sort  of  a  Christmas  greeting,  but 


travelers  five 


probably  she's  as  poor  as  she  is  pious  and 
had  to  count  her  words.  Come  on,  we'll 
look  up  Matthew  twenty-five  and  forty. 
I  guess  I  haven't  forgotten  how  to  do 
such  stunts,  even  if  it  has  been  such  a 
precious  while  since  the  last  one." 

He  led  the  way  to  his  tent,  and  while 
Jimmy  lighted  the  lamp  he  began  bur- 
rowing through  his  trunk.  Down  at  the 
very  bottom  he  found  it,  the  Book  he  was 
looking  for,  then  the  chapter  and  the 
verse.  When  he  cleared  his  throat  and 
read  the  entire  telegram  it  sounded 
strangely  impressive  in  his  hoarse  whis- 
per: 

"  Dane  arrived  safely.  God  bless  you.  '  And 
the  king  shall  answer  and  say  unto  them,  Verily 
I  say  unto  you,  inasmuch  as  ye  have  done  it  unto 
one  of  the  least  of  these  my  brethren,  ye  have 
done  it  unto  me.' ' 

There  was  an  awkward  pause  as  they 
faced  each  other  a  moment,  pondering 
52 


Gbe  jfirst  traveler 


the  queer  message.  Then  as  a  conscious 
red  began  to  burn  up  through  the  tan  of 
Jimmy's  weather-beaten  face,  Batty  un- 
derstood. 

"  You  sent  that  boy  home  to  his 
mother,"  he  began,  but  Jimmy,  bolting 
out  of  the  tent,  shambled  off,  shame- 
faced, through  the  dusk. 

For  a  long  time  Batty  stood  in  the  door 
looking  out  over  the  darkening  desert. 
The  one  star  swinging  above  the  horizon 
seemed  to  point  the  way  to  a  little  home 
among  snow-clad  hills,  where  Christmas 
gladness  had  reached  its  high-tide.  Pres- 
ently as  the  supper-bell  rang,  a  voice 
came  floating  up  from  the  bamboo 
thicket.  Cracked  and  thin  it  was,  but 
high  and  jubilant,  as  if  the  old  man  had 
forgotten  that  he  had  no  tobacco  for  the 
refreshment  of  his  soul  in  this  world,  and 
no  prospect  of  a  mass  for  its  repose  in 
the  next. 

53 


traveler*  five 


"  Wa-it  for  me  at  heav-un's  gate, 
Sweet  Belle  Mahone!" 

"  All  right  for  you,  old  Jimmy,"  whis- 
pered Batty  to  himself.  "  In  the  game 
St.  Peter  keeps  the  score  for,  you'll  be 
counted  the  highest  card  that  this  camp 
holds." 


54 


ZEbe  Seconb  traveler 


(Bib 
fn  tbe  THUafce  of  a  Donesmoon 


Seconb  traveler 


Un  tbe  THUafte  of  a  fjone^moon 

NO  matter  what  kind  of  a  proces- 
sion paraded  the  streets  of 
Gentryville,  one  unique  tail- 
piece always  brought  up  the  rear.  As  the 
music  of  the  band  died  away  in  the  dis- 
tance, and  the  pomp  of  the  pageant  dwin- 
dled down  to  the  last  straggling  end, 
necks  about  to  be  relieved  of  their  long 
tension  invariably  turned  for  one  more 
look.  It  was  then  that  old  Gid  Wiggan 
drove  by  in  his  Wild-cat  Liniment 
wagon,  as  unfailing  as  the  Z  that  ends  the 
alphabet. 

Lank  and  stoop-shouldered,  with  a 
long,  thin  beard  that  reached  his  lap,  and 
a  high,  bell-crowned  hat  pulled  down  to 
meet  his  flabby,  protruding  ears,  he  of 

57 


{Travelers  Jive 


himself  was  enough  to  provoke  a  laugh ; 
but  added  to  this  he  bore  aloft  on  a  pole 
the  insignia  that  proclaimed  his  call- 
ing. It  was  a  stuffed  wild-cat,  shelf- 
worn  and  weather-beaten,  glaring  with 
primeval  fierceness  with  its  one  glass 
eye,  and  wearing  a  ridiculously  meek 
expression  on  the  side  that  had  been 
bereft. 

Across  the  ribs  of  the  old  black  horse 
that  drew  the  wagon  was  painted  in  white 
letters,  "  Wiggan's  Wild-cat  Liniment;  " 
but  as  if  this  were  not  advertisement 
enough,  the  proprietor  sowed  little  hand- 
bills through  the  crowd,  guaranteeing 
that  the  liniment  (made  from  the  fat  of 
the  animal)  would  cure  any  ache  in  the 
whole  category  of  human  ills.  He  had 
followed  in  the  wake  of  the  Gentryville 
processions  so  many  years  that  he  had 
come  to  be  regarded  as  much  a  matter  of 
course  as  the  drum-major  or  the  clown. 
58 


Seconfc  traveler 


Civic  or  military,  the  occasion  made  no 
difference.  He  followed  a  circus  as  im- 
partially as  he  came  after  the  troops  re- 
viewing before  the  Governor's  stand,  and 
he  had  been  known  to  follow  even  one 
lone  band-wagon  through  the  town,  on 
its  mission  of  advertising  a  minstrel 
troupe. 

There  must  have  been  something  in  the 
geography  of  the  Wiggan  family  corre- 
sponding to  a  water-shed,  else  his  course 
in  life  could  not  have  differed  so  widely 
from  his  brother's.  They  had  drifted  as 
far  apart  as  twin  raindrops,  fated  to  find 
an  outlet  in  opposite  seas.  Indeed,  so 
great  was  the  difference  that  the  daugh- 
ters of  the  Hon.  Joseph  Churchill  Wig- 
gan (distinct  accent  on  the  last  syllable 
when  referring  to  them)  scarcely  felt  it 
incumbent  upon  them  to  give  his  brother 
Gideon  the  title  of  uncle. 

To  Louise  and  Maud  the  proper  ac- 
59 


{Travelers  jfive 


centuation  of  their  family  name  was  vital, 
since  it  seemed  to  put  up  a  sort  of  bar 
between  them  and  the  grotesque  liniment 
peddler.  The  townspeople  always  em- 
phasized the  first  syllable  in  speaking  of 
him. 

The  brothers  had  turned  their  backs 
upon  each  other,  even  in  the  building  of 
their  houses.  While  only  an  alley  sepa- 
rated their  stables  in  the  rear,  the  Hon. 
Joseph's  mansion  looked  out  on  a  spa- 
cious avenue,  and  old  Gid's  cottage  faced 
a  dingy  tenement  street.  He  had  his 
laboratory  in  the  loft  of  his  stable,  from 
the  windows  of  which  he  could  overlook 
his  brother's  back  premises. 

Maud  and  Louise,  regarding  him  and 
his  business  in  the  light  of  a  family  skele- 
ton, ignored  him  as  completely  as  a  fam- 
ily skeleton  can  be  ignored  when  it  is  of 
the  kind  that  will  not  stay  in  its  allotted 
closet.  It  seemed  to  meet  them  every 
60 


Seconfc  traveler 


time  they  opened  their  palatial  front 
door.  They  could  not  turn  a  street  cor- 
ner without  coming  upon  it.  Only  the 
ultra-sensitive  young  lady  just  home  from 
the  most  select  of  fashionable  schools  can 
know  the  pangs  that  it  cost  Louise  to  see 
her  family  name  staring  at  her  in  white 
letters  from  the  bony  sides  of  that  old 
horse,  in  connection  with  a  patent  medi- 
cine advertisement;  and  the  faintest 
whiff  of  any  volatile  oil  suggesting  lini- 
ment was  enough  to  elevate  Maud's  aris- 
tocratic nose  to  the  highest  degree  of 
scorn  and  disgust.  Once,  years  ago,  when 
the  girls  were  too  young  to  be  ashamed 
of  their  eccentric  kinsman,  they  had  vis- 
ited his  laboratory  out  of  childish  curios- 
ity. He  had  given  them  peanuts  from  a 
pocket  redolent  with  liniment,  and  had 
asked  them  to  come  again,  but  they  had 
had  no  occasion  to  repeat  the  visit  until 
after  they  were  grown. 
61 


{Travelers  five 


It  was  the  night  before  Louise's  wed- 
ding day.  They  had  both  finished  dress- 
ing for  the  evening,  but,  not  quite  satis- 
fied with  her  appearance,  Louise  still 
stood  before  the  mirror.  She  was  trying 
to  decide  how  to  wear  one  of  the  roses 
which  she  had  just  shaken  out  of  the  great 
bunch  on  her  dressing  table.  Ordinarily 
she  would  not  have  hesitated,  for  there 
was  nothing  she  could  do  or  wear  that 
would  not  be  admired  by  this  little  West- 
ern town.  It  was  the  card  accompanying 
the  roses  which  made  her  pause  —  the 
correct,  elegant  little  card,  engraved  sim- 
ply, "Mr.  Edward  Van  Harlem."  It 
seemed  to  confront  her  with  the  critical 
stare  of  the  most  formal  New  York  aris- 
tocracy, coldly  questioning  her  ability  to 
live  up  to  it  and  its  traditions. 

That  the  Van  Harlems  had  violently 
opposed  their  son's  marrying  outside 
their  own  select  circle  she  well  knew. 
62 


Secont)  traveler 


His  mother  could  not  forgive  him,  but  he 
was  her  idol,  and  she  was  following  him 
to  his  marriage  as  she  would  have  fol- 
lowed to  his  martyrdom.  By  this  time 
she  was  probably  in  Gentryville,  at  the 
hotel.  She  had  refused  to  meet  Louise 
until  the  next  day. 

Louise  laid  the  great,  leafy-stemmed 
rose  against  the  white  dress  she  wore.  It 
was  a  beautiful  picture  that  her  mirror 
showed  her,  and  for  an  instant  there  was 
a  certain  proud  lifting  of  the  girlish 
head;  a  gesture  not  unworthy  the  haughty 
Mrs.  Van  Harlem  herself.  But  the  next 
moment  a  tender  light  shone  in  her  eyes, 
as  if  some  sudden  memory  had  banished 
the  thought  of  the  Knickerbocker  dis- 
pleasure. 

The  maid  had  brought  in  the  evening 

paper,  and  Maud,  picking  it  up,  began 

reading    the    headlines    aloud.      Louise 

scarcely  heard  her.    When  one's  lover  is 

63 


{Travelers  jftve 


coming  before  the  little  cuckoo  in  the 
clock  has  time  to  call  out  another  hour, 
what  possible  interest  can  press  dis- 
patches hold? 

She  laid  the  velvety  petals  against  her 
warm  cheek,  and  then  softly  touched 
them  to  her  lips.  At  that,  her  own  re- 
flection in  the  mirror  seemed  to  look  at 
her  with  such  a  conscious  smile  that  she 
glanced  over  her  shoulder  to  see  if  her 
sister  had  been  a  witness  too.  As  she  did 
so,  Maud  dropped  the  paper  with  a  hor- 
rified groan. 

"Oh,  Louise!"  she  cried.  "What 
shall  we  do?  There's  to  be  an  industrial 
parade  to-morrow  morning,  with  dozens 
of  floats.  The  line  of  march  is  directly 
past  the  Continental  Hotel.  What  will 
Mrs.  Van  Harlem  say  when  she  sees 
Uncle  Gid's  wagon  and  our  name  in  the 
Wiggan  Wild-cat  advertisement?  " 

Louise  dropped  weakly  into  a  chair, 
64 


Gbe  Seconfc  traveler 


echoing  her  sister's  groan.  The  colour 
had  entirely  left  her  face.  She  was  more 
in  awe  of  her  patrician  lover  and  his 
family  than  she  had  acknowledged,  even 
to  herself. 

"  Think  of  that  awful,  old  moth-eaten 
wild-cat  on  a  pole!  "  giggled  Maud,  hys- 
terically. 

"Think  of  Uncle  Gid  himself!"  al- 
most shrieked  Louise.  "  It  would  kill 
me  to  have  him  pointed  out  to  the  Van 
Harlems  as  father's  brother,  and  some- 
body will  be  sure  to  do  it.  There's  al- 
ways somebody  mean  enough  to  do  such 
things." 

Maud  pushed  aside  the  curtain  and 
peered  out  into  the  June  twilight,  now 
so  dim  that  the  street  lamps  had  begun 
to  glimmer  through  the  dusk. 

"  If  we  could  only  shut  him  up  some- 
where," she  suggested.  "  Lock  him 
down  cellar  —  by  accident  —  until  after 


travelers  jfive 


the  parade,  then  he  couldn't  possibly  dis- 
grace us." 

There  was  a  long  silence.  Then 
Maud,  dropping  the  curtain  on  the  dusk 
of  the  outer  world,  turned  from  the  win- 
dow and  came  dancing  back  into  the 
middle  of  the  brightly  lighted  room. 

"  I've  thought  of  a  plan,"  she  cried, 
jubilantly.  "  We  can't  do  anything  with 
Uncle  Gid,  but  if  the  wild-cat  and  har- 
ness could  be  hidden  until  after  the  pa- 
rade, that  would  keep  him  safely  at  home, 
hunting  for  them." 

Louise  caught  at  the  suggestion  ea- 
gerly, but  immediately  sank  back  with  a 
despairing  sigh.  "It's  of  no  use!"  she 
exclaimed.  "  There's  no  one  whom  we 
could  trust  to  send.  If  Uncle  Gid  should 
have  the  faintest  suspicion  of  such  a  plot, 
there  is  nothing  too  dreadful  for  him  to 
attempt  in  retaliation.  He'd  bring  up 
the  rear  of  the  wedding  procession  itself 
66 


Seconfc  traveler 


with  that  disreputable  old  beast  on  a  pole, 
if  he  thought  it  would  humble  our 
pride." 

As  she  spoke,  she  again  caught  sight 
of  the  little  card  that  had  come  with  the 
roses.  It  nerved  her  to  sudden  action. 
"  I  must  go  myself,"  she  cried,  desper- 
ately, springing  up  from  her  chair. 

"  Oh,  no!"  exclaimed  Maud,  "you're 
surely  joking.  It's  pitch  dark  in  the  sta- 
ble by  this  time.  Besides  you  might  meet 
some  one  - 

"  It's  my  only  salvation,"  answered 
Louise,  with  an  excited  tremor  in  her 
voice.  "  Oh,  you  don't  know  the  Van 
Harlems!  Come  on,  Sis,  and  help  me, 
that's  a  dear.  It  will  be  our  last  lark  to- 
gether." 

"  And  our  first  one  of  this  kind,"  an- 
swered Maud,  drawing  back.  "  Edward 
will  be  here  in  a  few  minutes,  and  - 

"  All  the  more  reason  for  us  to  hurry," 


Graveier0  five 


interrupted  Louise,  taking  a  candle  from 
the  silver  sconce  on  her  dressing  table, 
and  snatching  up  some  matches.  "  Come 
on!" 

Carried  away  by  her  sister's  impetuos- 
ity, Maud  followed  softly  down  the  back 
stairs  and  across  the  tennis  court.  In 
their  white  dresses  they  glimmered 
through  the  dusk  like  ghosts.  They  were 
laughing  under  their  breath  when  they 
started  out,  but  as  they  crossed  the  dark 
alley  they  looked  around  nervously,  and 
clutched  each  other  like  frightened 
schoolgirls. 

Ten  minutes  later  they  were  stealing 
up  the  back  stairs  again,  carrying  some- 
thing between  them  wrapped  in  Maud's 
white  petticoat.  She  had  taken  it  off  and 
wrapped  it  around  the  beast  to  avoid 
touching  it.  They  had  not  been  able  to 
find  a  safe  hiding  place  in  the  stable,  and 
in  sheer  desperation  had  decided  to  carry 
68 


Second  traveler 


it  home  with  them  for  the  night.  A 
strong  odour  of  liniment  followed  in  their 
wake,  for  Louise,  in  her  frantic  haste, 
had  upset  a  bottle  all  over  the  wild-cat, 
and  liberally  spattered  herself  with  the 
pungent,  oily  mixture. 

As  they  hurried  up  the  stairs,  the  cook 
suddenly  opened  the  door  into  the  back 
hall,  sending  a  stream  of  light  across 
them  from  the  kitchen.  There  was  a  look 
of  amazement  on  her  startled  face  as  she 
recognized  her  young  mistresses  coming 
in  the  back  way  at  such  an  hour,  but  she 
was  too  well  trained  to  say  anything.  She 
only  sniffed  questioningly  as  the  strange 
smell  reached  her  nostrils,  then  shut  the 
door. 

Just  as  the  girls  reached  the  head  of 
the  stairs  there  was  a  loud  ring  of  the 
front  door-bell.  "Edward!"  exclaimed 
Louise,  helplessly  letting  her  end  of  the 
bundle  slip* 

69 


travelers 


"  Run  and  change  your  dress,"  said 
Maud.  "  You  are  all  cobwebs  and  soot 
from  dragging  that  harness  into  the  coal- 
cellar.  I'll  attend  to  this." 

Opening  the  door  into  a  little  trunk 
room  at  the  end  of  the  hall,  she  dragged 
her  burden  inside.  An  empty  dress-box 
on  the  floor  suggested  an  easy  way  of  dis- 
posing of  it.  But  when  she  had  stuffed 
it  in,  still  wrapped  in  the  petticoat,  not 
satisfied  as  to  its  secrecy,  she  opened  an 
empty  trunk  and  lifted  the  box  into  that. 
As  she  passed  her  sister's  door  Louise 
called  her. 

"  Here!"  she  said,  despairingly,  hold- 
ing out  both  hands.  "  We  might  as  well 
give  up.  Smell! " 

Maud's  nose  went  up  in  air.  "  Lini- 
ment!" she  exclaimed,  solemnly.  "Yes, 
it's  fate.  We  can't  get  away  from  it." 

"  Edward  will  wonder  what  it  is,"  said 
Louise,  almost  tearfully.  "  Oh,  it  seems 
70 


Second  traveler 


as  if  he  must  surely  know.  There's  no 
mistaking  that!  " 

Maud  poured  some  cologne  on  her 
handkerchief,  and  rubbed  it  briskly  over 
her  sister's  fingers.  "  You  look  as  fright- 
ened as  Blue  Beard's  wife  when  she 
dropped  the  key  in  the  bloody  closet." 

All  through  her  dressing,  Louise  kept 
sniffing  suspiciously  at  her  dainty  fingers, 
and  even  when  she  was  ready  to  go  down- 
stairs, stopped  at  the  door  to  look  back, 
like  a  second  Lady  Macbeth. 

"  '  Not  all  the  odours  of  Araby  can 
sweeten  that  little  hand,'  "  she  said  in  a 
tragic  whisper,  and  Maud  answered  un- 
der her  breath: 

(  You  may  break,  you  may  shatter  the  vase 

if  you  will, 
The  scent  of  the  roses  will  cling  'round  it  still.' ' 

A  little  later,  Mrs.  Wiggan's  French 
maid,  going  into  the  trunk  room  with  an 
armful  of  clothes,  began  packing  the 


five 


bride's  dainty  trousseau.  The  trunks  to 
be  used  for  that  purpose  had  been  pointed 
out  to  her  that  afternoon. 

As  she  opened  the  first  one,  such  a  pen- 
etrating odour  greeted  her  that  she  drew 
back. 

"  Maybe  ze  camphor  ball,"  she  ex- 
claimed aloud,  lifting  a  corner  of  the  box 
which  nearly  filled  the  bottom  of  the 
trunk.  "  Ah  yes!  "  she  went  on,  peeping 
in.  "  It  ees  mademoiselle's  furs,  what  air 
protect  from  ze  bugs  by  zat  killing  odair. 
It  will  presairve  also  ze  woollens  as 
well."  Forthwith  she  began  deftly  pack- 
ing a  pile  of  snowy  flannels  around  the 
box  which  held  the  family  disgrace. 

Twenty-four  hours  later,  that  trunk 
among  a  number  of  others  was  jogging 
along  in  a  baggage  car  on  its  way  to  New 
York.  It  was  checked  to  the  pier  from 
which  the  Majestic  was  to  sail  that  week, 
and  tagged,  "  For  the  hold." 
72 


Seconfc  traveler 


It  was  the  first  parade  that  old  Gid 
Wiggan  had  missed  in  twenty  years,  but 
it  was  not  his  niece's  plotting  which  kept 
him  at  home.  He  lay  with  closed  eyes 
in  his  dark  little  bedroom,  too  ill  to  know 
that  a  procession  was  passing.  The  old 
man  had  come  to  a  place  where  he  could 
no  longer  follow  at  the  heels  of  a  cheer- 
ful crowd.  He  must  branch  off  by  him- 
self now,  and  find  his  solitary  way  as  best 
he  could,  over  a  strangely  lonesome  road. 

"  He's  an  old  miser,  but  it  won't  do  to 
let  him  die  like  a  heathen,"  said  one  of 
the  neighbours,  when  his  condition  was 
discovered.  So  there  were  watchers  by 
his  bedside  when  the  end  came.  Car- 
riages had  been  rolling  back  and  forth  all 
the  evening,  and  at  last  the  ponderous 
rumbling  aroused  him. 

"  What's  that?  "  he  asked,  opening  his 
eyes  as  the  sound  of  wheels  reached  him. 
"  Is  the  parade  coming?  " 
73 


{Travelers  jftve 


"  Only  the  carriages  driving  back  from 
St.  Paul's,"  was  the  answer.  "  There's 
a  wedding  there  to-night." 

Old  Gid  closed  his  eyes  again.  "  I  re- 
member now,"  he  said.  "  It's  Joe's  little 
girl,  but  I  didn't  get  a  bid.  They're 
ashamed  of  their  old  uncle.  Well, 
they'll  never  be  bothered  with  him 
any  more  now,  nor  any  of  his  be- 
longings." 

The  watchers  exchanged  glances  and 
repeated  the  remark  afterwards  to  the 
curious  neighbours  who  came  to  look  at 
the  old  man  as  he  lay  in  his  coffin.  He 
had  long  had  the  reputation  of  being  a 
miser,  and  more  than  one  hand  that  day 
was  passed  searchingly  over  some  piece 
of  battered  furniture.  It  was  a  common 
belief  on  that  street  that  his  fortune  was 
stuffed  away  in  some  of  the  threadbare 
cushions. 

His  will,  which  came  to  light  soon 
74 


Second  traveler 


after,  directed  that  the  rickety  old  house 
should  be  sold  to  pay  the  expenses  of  his 
last  illness  and  burial,  and  to  erect  a  mon- 
ument over  him.  As  if  not  content  with 
humiliating  his  family  in  the  flesh,  he  had 
ordered  that  it  be  cut  in  stone:  "  Here 
lies  the  manufacturer  and  proprietor  of 
Wiggan's  Wild-cat  Liniment."  The  old 
horse,  after  taking  the  part  of  chief 
mourner  at  his  funeral,  was  to  be  chloro- 
formed. 

Of  kith  and  kindred  there  had  been  no 
mention  until  the  last  clause  of  the  will, 
by  which  he  left  the  meagre  contents  of 
his  laboratory  to  a  distant  cousin  in  Ari- 
zona, whom  he  had  never  seen,  but  who 
bore  the  same  name  as  himself,  with  the 
addition  of  a  middle  initial.  This  was 
the  clause  which  turned  Gentryville  up- 
side down: 

"  And  I  also  give,  devise  and  bequeath 
to  the  said  Gideon  J.  Wiggan,  my  stuffed 
75 


travelers  jftve 


wild-cat,  hoping  that  he  will  find  in  it 
the  mascot  that  I  have  found." 

The  same  letter  which  informed  the 
Arizona  cousin  of  his  legacy  told  him 
that  it  had  mysteriously  disappeared.  No 
money  was  found  in  the  house,  and  the 
disappearance  of  the  wild-cat  strength- 
ened the  prevalent  belief  that  old  Gid 
had  used  it  as  a  receptacle  for  his  savings, 
and  had  hidden  it  with  all  a  miser's  craft- 
iness. 

A  week  later  the  Arizona  cousin  ap- 
peared, having  come  East  to  unearth  the 
mystery  and  to  meet  the  remaining  mem- 
bers of  the  Wiggan  family,  who,  he  un- 
derstood, were  living  in  Gentryville.  He 
was  too  late.  Maud  and  her  mother  had 
closed  the  house  immediately  after  the 
wedding,  and  started  on  a  summer  jaunt, 
presumably  to  Alaska.  His  letters  and 
telegrams  received  no  answer  and  he 
could  not  locate  his  relatives,  despite  his 
76 


Seconfc  traveler 


persistent  efforts.  The  more  he  investi- 
gated, the  more  he  became  convinced  that 
old  Gid,  alienated  from  his  immediate 
family,  had  made  him  his  heir  on  account 
of  the  name,  and  that  a  fair-sized  fortune 
was  stuffed  away  in  the  body  of  the  miss- 
ing wild-cat.  A  few  leaves  from  a 
queerly  kept  old  ledger  confirmed  this 
opinion.  Most  of  them  had  been  torn 
out,  but  judging  from  the  ones  he  exam- 
ined, the  receipts  from  the  liniment  sales 
must  have  been  far  greater  than  people 
supposed. 

He  did  not  suspect  his  cousin  Joseph's 
family  being  a  party  to  the  disappear- 
ance, until  some  servants'  gossip  reached 
him.  The  cook  gave  him  his  first  clue, 
when  a  dollar  jogged  her  memory.  She 
remembered  having  seen  the  young  ladies 
slipping  up  the  back  stairs  the  night  be- 
fore the  wedding,  carrying  something 
between  them.  The  laundress  had  asked 
77 


{Travelers  five 


her  the  next  day  where  the  young  ladies 
could  have  been  to  get  their  dresses  so 
soiled  in  the  evening.  They  were 
streaked  with  coal-soot  and  smelled 
strongly  of  the  liniment  that  their  uncle 
made.  The  French  maid,  who  had  not 
gone  with  her  mistress,  but  had  taken  a 
temporary  position  with  a  dressmaker, 
recognized  the  odour  when  a  bottle  was 
brought  to  her.  She  swore  that  it  was 
the  same  that  mademoiselle's  furs  were 
filled  with.  She  had  smelled  it  first  when 
she  packed  them  in  the  trunk. 

The  evidence  of  the  cook,  the  laundress 
and  the  maid  was  enough  for  Gideon  J. 
Wiggan.  He  was  a  loud,  rough  man, 
without  education,  but  so  uniformly  suc- 
cessful in  all  his  business  enterprises  that 
he  had  come  to  have  an  unbounded  con- 
ceit, and  an  unlimited  faith  in  himself. 
"  I  never  yet  bit  off  any  more  than  I 
could  chew,"  he  was  fond  of  saying. 
78 


Seconfc  traveler 


"  I'm  a  self-made  man.  I've  never  failed 
in  anything  yet.  I'm  my  own  lawyer  and 
my  own  doctor,  and  now  I'll  be  my  own 
detective;  and  I'll  worm  this  thing  out, 
if  I  have  to  go  to  Europe  to  do  it.'1 

To  Europe  he  finally  went.  The  happy 
bridal  couple,  making  a  tour  of  the  cathe- 
dral towns  of  England,  little  dreamed 
what  an  avenging  Nemesis  was  following 
fast  in  the  wake  of  their  honeymoon. 
From  Canterbury  to  York  he  followed 
them,  from  York  to  Chester.  They  had 
always  just  gone.  Evidently  they  were 
trying  to  elude  him.  Once  he  almost  had 
his  hand  upon  them.  It  was  in  London. 
He  had  reached  the  Hotel  Metropole 
only  two  hours  after  their  departure. 
They  had  gone  ostensibly  to  Paris,  but 
had  left  no  address.  He  ground  his  teeth 
when  he  discovered  that  fact.  How  was 
he  to  trace  them  further  without  the 
slightest  clue  and  without  the  faintest 
79 


^Travelers 


knowledge  of  any  foreign  tongue?  For 
the  first  time  in  his  life  he  had  to  ac- 
knowledge himself  baffled. 

The  next  day,  while  he  was  making 
cautious  inquiries  at  Scotland  Yard,  pre- 
paratory to  engaging  a  first-class  detect- 
ive, he  fell  in  with  an  old  acquaintance, 
a  man  whom  he  had  known  in  Arizona, 
and  who  was  employed  in  the  detective 
service  himself.  He  had  been  sent  over 
on  the  trail  of  some  counterfeiters,  and 
seemed  to  have  an  inexhaustible  fund  of 
information  about  every  wealthy  Amer- 
ican who  had  gone  abroad  that  summer. 
Within  half  an  hour  the  baffled  Gideon 
had  put  his  case  into  his  hands,  humbly 
acknowledging  that  for  once  in  his  life 
he  had  bitten  off  more  than  he  could 
chew. 

Dinner  was  in  progress  in  one  of  the 
most  fashionable  hotels  of   Paris.     Ed- 
80 


Seconb  traveler 


ward  Van  Harlem,  seated  opposite  his 
wife   at  one   of   the   many   little   tables, 
looked  around  approvingly.     His  fastid- 
ious eyes  saw  nothing  to  criticize  in  the 
whole  luxurious  apartment,  except  per- 
haps the  too  cheerful  expression  of  the 
man  who  served  them.     A  more  sphinx- 
like  cast  of  countenance  would  have  be- 
tokened better  training.    Then  he  looked 
critically  at  his  wife.    It  may  be  that  the 
elegant  New  Yorker  was  a  trifle  over- 
particular, but  he  could  find   no   fault 
here.    She  was  the  handsomest  woman  in 
the  room.    She  was  dressed  for  the  opera, 
and    the    priceless    Van    Harlem    pearls 
around  her  white  throat  were  worthy  of 
a  duchess.     She  wore  them  with  the  air 
of  one,  too,  he  noticed  admiringly.     He 
had  not  realized   that  a  little  Western 
girl  could  be  so  regal.    Ah !  if  his  mother 
could  only  see  her  now! 

"  What  is  it,  Louise?  "  he  asked,  seeing 
81 


travelers  five 


her  give  a  slight  start  of  surprise. 
"  Those  two  men  at  the  table  behind 
you,"  she  answered,  almost  in  a  whisper, 
for  the  service  was  so  noiseless  and  the 
general  conversation  so  subdued  that  she 
was  afraid  of  being  overheard.  "  They 
look  so  common  and  out  of  place  in  their 
rough  travelling  suits.  They  are  the 
only  persons  in  the  room  not  in  evening 
dress." 

Van  Harlem  turned  slightly  and  gave 
a  supercilious  glance  behind  him.  "  How 
did  such  plebeians  ever  get  in  here?  "  he 
said,  frowning  slightly.  "  I  wish  Amer- 
ica would  keep  such  specimens  at  home. 
It's  queer  they  should  stumble  into  an 
exclusive  place  like  this.  They  must  feel 
like  fish  out  of  water." 

Louise  tasted  her  soup,  and  then  looked 
up  again.  One  of  the  men  was  watching 
her  like  a  hawk.  His  persistent  gaze  an- 
noyed her,  but  there  was  a  compelling 
82 


Second  traveler 


force  about  it  that  made  her  steal  another 
glance  at  him.  His  eyes  held  hers  an  in- 
stant in  startled  fascination,  then  she 
dropped  them  with  a  sudden  fear  that 
made  her  cold  and  faint.  The  man  bore 
a  remarkable  likeness  to  her  Uncle  Gid- 
eon. More  than  that,  she  had  discov- 
ered some  resemblance  to  her  father  in 
the  determined  chin  and  the  way  his  hair 
rolled  back  from  his  forehead.  That 
little  droop  of  the  lip  was  like  her 
father's,  too.  Could  it  be  that  there  was 
some  remote  tie  between  them  and  that 
the  stranger  was  staring  at  her  because 
he,  too,  saw  a  family  likeness?  She  was 
afraid  for  her  husband  to  turn  around 
lest  he  should  discover  it  also. 

Ever  since  the  arrival  of  the  mails  that 
morning,  she  had  been  in  a  state  of  nerv- 
ous apprehension.  Somebody  had  sent 
her  a  marked  copy  of  the  Gentryville 
Times,  with  an  account  of  her  uncle's  will 
83 


jfive 


and  the  heir's  vain  search  for  his  legacy. 
She  had  wanted  to  write  immediately  to 
Maud,  and  ask  if  she  had  remembered, 
in  the  confusion  that  followed  the  wed- 
ding, to  restore  the  old  man's  property, 
but  Edward  had  carried  her  away  for  a 
day's  sight-seeing,  and  she  had  had  no 
opportunity. 

As  she  sat  idly  toying  with  her  dinner, 
some  intuition  connected  this  man  with 
her  Uncle  Gideon,  and  she  was  in  a  fever 
of  impatience  to  get  away,  for  fear  he 
might  obtrude  himself  on  her  husband's 
notice.  When  they  had  first  swept  into 
the  dining-room,  the  Arizona  cousin  had 
leaned  over  the  table  until  his  face  almost 
touched  the  detective's.  "  They're  stun- 
ners! Ain't  they?"  he  whispered. 
"  Wonder  if  any  of  my  money  bought 
them  pearls  and  gew-gaws.  Well,  this 
show's  worth  the  box-seat  prices  we  paid 
to  get  next  to  'em.  I  wonder  if  the  waiter 
84 


Seconfc  traveler 


would  have  promised  to  put  us  alongside 
if  I'd  offered  him  any  less  than  a  five- 
franc  piece."  Then,  as  Louise's  eyes  fell 
before  his  in  embarrassment,  he  mut- 
tered, "She  looks  guilty,  doesn't  she! 
I'll  bet  my  hat  she  suspicions  what  we're 
after." 

The  two  men  were  only  beginning  their 
salad  course,  when  Van  Harlem  beckoned 
a  waiter  and  gave  an  order  in  French. 
"  What  did  he  say?  "  asked  Wiggan,  sus- 
piciously. "  I  wish  I  could  make  out 
their  beastly  lingo." 

"  He  sent  to  call  a  carriage,  and  to  tell 
the  maid  to  bring  the  lady's  wraps. 
They're  going  to  the  opera." 

"  You  mean  they're  going  to  give  us 
the  slip  again!  Come  on!  We  must 
stop  'em! " 

"  Now,  Gid,  you  just  cool  down,"  ad- 
vised the  detective,  calmly.    "  I'm  work- 
ing this  little  game.     It's  a  family  affair 
85 


{Travelers 


and  there's  no  use  making  a  row  in  pub- 
lic. There's  plenty  of  time."  But  his 
client  had  no  ear  for  caution.  The  Van 
Harlems  had  risen,  and  were  going 
slowly  down  the  long  drawing-room. 
All  eyes  followed  the  beautiful  American 
girl  and  the  aristocratic  young  fellow 
who  carried  himself  like  a  lord.  The 
mirror-lined  walls  flashed  back  the 
pleasing  reflection  from  every  side,  and 
then  replaced  it  with  a  most  astonishing 
sight. 

In  and  out  between  the  little  tables 
with  their  glitter  of  cut-glass  and  silver, 
dashed  a  common-looking  fellow  in  a 
coarse  plaid  suit.  Upsetting  chairs, 
whisking  table-cloths  from  their  places, 
bumping  into  solemn  waiters  with  their 
laden  trays,  he  seemed  oblivious  to  every- 
thing but  the  escaping  couple.  The  de- 
tective had  detained  him  as  long  as  pos- 
sible, and  the  couple  had  almost  reached 
86 


traveler 


the  door  when  he  started  in  frantic  pur- 
suit. He  reached  them  just  as  they 
stepped  into  the  corridor.  He  tried  to 
curb  his  trembling  voice,  but  in  his  ex- 
citement it  rang  out  to  the  farthest  corner 
of  the  great  apartment,  high  above  the 
music  of  the  violins,  playing  softly  in  a 
curtained  alcove. 

"  You  want  your  what?  "  demanded  the 
elegant  Van  Harlem  in  a  tone  that  would 
have  frozen  a  less  desperate  man. 

"  I  want  that  stuffed  wild-cat,"  he 
roared,  "  that  your  wife's  uncle  left  me  in 
his  will,  and  you  made  off  with.  I  came 
all  the  way  from  America  for  it,  and  I'll 
have  it  now,  or  you'll  go  to  jail,  sure  as 
my  name  is  Gideon  J.  Wiggan." 

Louise,  already  unnerved  by  her  fears 
at  dinner,  and  exhausted  by  the  tiresome 
day  of  sight-seeing,  started  forward, 
deathly  pale.  It  seemed  to  her  that  the 
man  had  shouted  out  her  name  so  that  all 
87 


{Travelers  iftve 


Paris  must  have  heard.  The  disgrace  had 
followed  her  even  over  seas. 

She  looked  up  piteously  at  her  hus- 
band, and  then  fell  fainting  in  his  arms. 

"  The  man's  crazy,"  exclaimed  Van 
Harlem,  as  he  strode  with  her  toward  the 
elevator.  "  Here,  waiter,  call  the  police 
and  have  that  lunatic  put  out  of  the  house. 
He's  dangerous." 

It  was  only  a  moment  until  he  had 
reached  their  rooms  and  had  laid  Louise 
gently  on  a  couch,  but  as  he  turned  to 
ring  for  the  maid,  the  two  men  con- 
fronted him  on  the  threshold.  The  de- 
tective bolted  the  door,  and  the  Arizona 
cousin  took  out  his  revolver. 

"  No,  you  don't  ring  that  bell,"  he  ex- 
claimed, seeing  Van  Harlem  move  in  the 
direction  of  the  button;  "nor  you  don't 
get  out  of  here  until  you  hand  over  that 
wild-cat.  You've  got  it  and  your  wife 
knows  it.  That's  why  she  fainted.  My 
88 


Second  traveler 


friend  here  is  a  detective,  and  we're  go- 
ing through  your  things  till  we  find  it, 
for  it's  full  of  gold." 

Van  Harlem  moved  forward  to  wrest 
away  the  revolver,  but  the  detective  pre- 
sented his.  "  No,  you  can't  do  that 
either,"  he  said,  quietly.  "  I'm  going  to 
see  that  my  friend  gets  his  rights." 

With  the  helpless  feeling  that  he  was 
in  the  hands  of  two  madmen,  Van  Har- 
lem stood  by  while  trunk  after  trunk  was 
overhauled,  and  the  trousseau  scattered 
all  over  the  room.  The  one  containing 
the  flannels  had  not  been  unlocked  since 
it  left  Gentryville.  It  was  the  last  to  be 
examined. 

Louise  opened  her  eyes  with  a  little 
shriek  as  a  familiar  odour  penetrated  to 
her  consciousness.  They  had  unearthed 
the  family  skeleton.  "  Louise! "  cried 
her  husband  as  the  old  moth-eaten  animal 
was  dragged  from  under  her  dainty 
89 


{Travelers  jftve 


lingerie.  u  What  under  heaven  does  this 
mean?  "  Another  fainting  spell  was  her 
only  answer,  and  the  one  yellow  glass  eye 
leered  up  at  him,  as  if  defying  the  whole 
Van  Harlem  pedigree. 

A  minute  later  a  stream  of  saw-dust 
oozed  out  from  the  beast's  body,  covering 
the  piles  of  be-ribboned  lace  and  linen, 
scattered  all  over  the  velvet  carpet.  Then 
a  limp,  shapeless  skin  with  its  one  yellow 
eye  still  glaring,  was  kicked  across  the 
room.  The  Arizona  cousin  had  no 
further  use  for  it.  He  had  come  into  his 
inheritance. 

He  walked  across  the  room  and  gave 
the  moth-eaten  skin  another  kick.  Then, 
with  an  oath,  he  handed  his  friend  a  slip 
of  paper  which  he  had  found  inside. 
Written  across  it  in  faded  purple  ink  were 
three  straggling  lines.  It  was  the  for- 
mula for  making  the  famous  "  Wiggan's 
Wild-cat  Liniment." 
90 


ZTblrb  traveler 


Gbe  Clown 

Uowarfcs  Dis  HccolaOe 


Gbirfc  traveler 

Gbe  Clown 
Ibis  accolade 


1 


little  man  in  motley,  thrust- 
ing his  face  through  the  curtains 
of  the  big  circus  tent,  looked  out 
on  the  gathering  crowds  and  grinned.  To 
him  that  assemblage  of  gaping  back- 
woods pioneers  was  a  greater  show  than 
the  one  he  was  travelling  with,  although 
the  circus  itself  was  a  pioneer  in  its  way. 
It  was  the  first  that  had  ever  travelled 
through  the  almost  unbroken  forests  of 
southern  Indiana,  and  the  fame  of  its  per- 
formance at  Vincennes  had  spread  to  the 
Ohio  long  before  the  plodding  oxen  had 
drawn  the  heavy  lion  cages  half  that  dis- 
tance. Such  wild  rumours  of  it  had 
found  their  way  across  the  sparsely  set- 
tled hills  and  hollows,  that  families  who 
93 


travelers 


had  not  been  out  of  sight  of  their  cabin 
chimneys  in  five  years  or  more  were 
drawn  irresistibly  circusward. 

Standing  on  a  barrel,  behind  a  hole  in 
the  canvas  of  the  tent,  the  little  clown 
amused  himself  by  watching  the  stream 
of  arrivals.  As  far  as  he  could  see,  down 
the  glaringly  sunny  road,  rising  clouds  of 
dust  betokened  the  approach  of  a  seem- 
ingly endless  procession.  The  whole 
county  appeared  to  be  flocking  to  the 
commons  just  outside  of  Burnville,  where 
the  annual  training  in  military  tactics 
took  place  on  "  muster  days."  People 
were  coming  by  the  wagon-load;  nearly 
every  horse  carried  double,  and  one  old 
nag  ambled  up  with  a  row  of  boys  astride 
her  patient  back  from  neck  to  tail. 

It  was  a  hot  afternoon  in  August,  and 

a   rank,   almost  overpowering  odour  of 

dog-fennel    rose   from   the   dusty  weeds 

trampled  down  around  the  tent.    The  lit- 

94 


traveler 


tie  clown  was  half  stifled  by  the  dust,  the 
heat,  and  the  smell,  and  the  perspiration 
trickled  down  his  grotesquely  painted 
face;  but  an  occasional  impatient  flap- 
ping of  his  handkerchief  to  clear  away 
the  dust  of  a  new  arrival  was  all  that  be- 
trayed his  discomfort.  He  was  absorbed 
in  the  conversation  of  a  little  group  who, 
seated  on  a  log  directly  under  his  peep- 
hole in  the  canvas,  were  patiently  waiting 
for  the  performance  to  begin. 

"  My  motley  can't  hold  a  candle  to 
theirs,"  he  thought,  with  an  amused 
chuckle,  as  he  surveyed  them  critically. 
"  Judging  by  the  cut  of  that  girl's  old 
silk  dress,  it  was  a  part  of  her  grand- 
mother's wedding  finery,  and  she  prob- 
ably spun  the  stuff  for  that  sunbonnet  her- 
self. But  the  man  —  Moses  in  the  bul- 
rushes! People  back  East  wouldn't  be- 
lieve me  if  I  told  them  how  he  is  togged 
out:  tow  trousers,  broadcloth  coat  with 

95 


{Travelers  jftve 


brass  buttons,  bare  feet,  and  a  coonskin 
cap,  on  this  the  hottest  of  all  the  hot  dog- 
days  ever  created!  " 

He  wiped  his  face  again  after  this  in- 
ventory, and  steadied  himself  on  the  bar- 
rel. All  unconscious  of  the  audience  they 
were  entertaining,  the  man  and  girl  were 
retailing  the  neighbourhood  news  to  a 
tired-looking  little  woman,  who  sat  on 
the  log  beside  them,  with  a  heavy  baby  in 
her  arms.  Their  broad  Western  speech 
was  as  unfamiliar  as  it  was  amusing  to 
their  unseen  listener.  The  barrel  shook 
with  his  suppressed  laughter,  as  they  re- 
peated the  rumours  they  had  heard  re- 
garding the  circus. 

"  Thar  was  six  oxen  to  draw  the  lion 
cages,"  said  the  girl,  fanning  herself  with 
her  sunbonnet.  "  Sam  said  them  beasts 
roared  to  beat  the  Dutch  —  two  of  'em. 
And  he  says  thar's  a  pock-marked  Irish- 
man as  goes  around  between  acts  with  a 

96 


traveler 


nine-banded  armadillo.  Ef  ye  tech  it, 
ye'll  never  have  the  toothache  no  more. 
But  thar's  suthin  better  nor  him.  Sam 
says  he  'lows  we'll  jest  all  die  a-laughin' 
when  we  see  the  clown.  The  whole  end 
of  the  State  has  gone  wild  over  that  air 
clown.  Sam  says  they  make  more  fuss 
over  him  than  they  would  over  the  Presi- 
dent ef  he  was  t'  come  to  this  neck  o' 
woods." 

Here  the  auditor  behind  the  scenes, 
with  his  hand  on  his  heart,  made  such  a 
low  bow  that  he  lost  his  balance,  and 
nearly  upset  the  barrel. 

"  I  reckon  the  elyfunt  will  be  the  big- 
gest sight,"  drawled  the  man.  "  That's 
what  drawed  me  here.  I  ain't  never  seen 
even  the  picter  of  an  elyfunt,  and  they 
say  this  is  the  real  live  article  from  t'other 
side  of  the  world.  They  say  it  kin  eat  a 
cock  of  hay  six  foot  high  at  one  meal." 

Here  the  baby  stirred  and  fretted  in  the 
97 


{Travelers  jfive 


woman's  arms,  and  she  wearily  lifted  it 
to  an  easier  position  against  her  shoulder. 

"  I  wish  Jim  would  hurry  up,"  she 
sighed,  wiping  her  hot  face  on  a  corner 
of  her  homespun  apron. 

"  He's  over  yander  helpin'  ole  Mis' 
Potter  put  up  her  ginger-bread  stand," 
answered  the  girl,  pointing  to  a  large  oak- 
tree  on  the  edge  of  the  common.  "  I  seen 
'em  when  she  first  come  a-drivin'  up  on 
that  big  ox-sled,  with  a  barrel  of  cider 
behind  her.  Law,  I  reckon  she  hain't 
never  missed  bein'  on  hand  to  sell  her 
cakes  and  cider  here  on  muster-days  nary 
a  time  in  ten  years." 

"  Tain't  Mis'  Potter,"  answered  the 
older  woman.  "  She's  ben  laid  up  with 
rheumatiz  nearly  all  summer.  It's  Boone 
Ratcliffe's  mother  and  his  little  Will- 


iam." 


"You  don't  mean  it!"  exclaimed  the 
girl,  with  eager  interest,  standing  up  to 


traveler 


get  a  better  view.  "  Not  ole  '  Madam 
Ratcliffe,'  as  pap  calls  her!  I've  ben 
honin'  for  a  sight  of  her  ever  sence  last 
spring,  when  I  heerd  she'd  come  out  from 
Maryland.  I  used  to  hear  about  her 
afore  Boone  married  M'randy.  It  was 
M'randy  as  told  me  about  her.  She  said 
the  ole  lady  was  so  rich  and  so  stuck  up 
that  she  never  even  tied  her  own  shoes. 
They  had  slaves  and  land  and  money  and 
everything  that  heart  could  wish,  and 
they  didn't  think  that  M'randy  was  good 
enough  for  their  only  son.  The  letters 
they  writ  to  Boone  trying  to  head  him  off 
made  M'randy  so  mad  that  I  didn't  sup- 
pose she'd  ever  git  over  it." 

"  She  didn't,"  answered  the  little 
woman,  "  and  it  was  scant  welcome  they 
got  when  they  come.  The  letter  they 
sent  a  month  aforehand  never  got  here, 
so  of  course  nobody  knowed  they  was 
a-comin',  and  they  wa'n't  nobody  down 
99 


{Travelers  ]five 


to  the  Ohio  River  landin'  to  meet  'em. 
My  Jim  he  happened  to  be  thar  when 
they  got  off'n  the  flatboat.  They  was 
dreadful  put  out  when  they  didn't  find 
Boone  watchin'  out  for  'em,  after  comin' 
all  the  way  from  Maryland.  Goodness 
knows  what  'ud  become  of  'em  ef  Jim 
hadn't  happened  acrost  'em.  The  boat 
had  gone  on  down  the  river  and  left  'em 
settin'  thar  on  shore  amongst  the  bales 
and  boxes,  as  helpless  as  two  kittens.  Jim 
he  seen  'em  a-settin'  thar,  and  bein'  a  soft- 
hearted chap  and  knowin'  suthin'  was 
wrong,  he  up  and  spoke. 

"  They  was  so  bewildered  like,  'count 
of  not  finding  Boone  and  everything  bein' 
so  dif'runt  from  what  they  lotted  on,  that 
they  was  well-nigh  daft.  The  ole  man 
had  ben  sick  ever  sence  they  left  Pitts- 
burg,  and  they  was  both  plum  tuckered 
out  with  that  long  flatboat  trip.  Jim  he 
jest  h'isted  'em  into  the  wagon,  big  chest 
100 


traveler 


and  all,  and  brought  'em  on  to  Burn- 
ville. 

"  He  said  'twas  plain  to  be  seen  they 
hadn't  "never  been  used  to  roughin'  it  in 
any  way.  The  ole  gentleman  was  so  sick 
he  had  to  lean  his  head  on  her  shoulder 
all  the  way,  and  she  kep'  a-strokin'  his 
white  hair  with  her  fine  soft  fingers,  and 
talkin'  to  him  as  if  he'd  ben  a  child.  She 
tried  to  chirk  him  up  by  tellin'  him  they'd 
soon  be  to  Boone's  home,  and  talkin' 
'bout  when  Boone  was  a  little  feller,  tell 
Jim  couldn't  hardly  stand  it,  he's  that 
soft-hearted. 

"  He  knew  all  the  time  what  a  disap- 
p'intment  was  in  store  when  they  should 
set  eyes  on  M'randy  and  the  cabin,  and 
find  Boone  growed  to  be  so  rough  and 
common.  It  was  dark  when  they  got 
than  Boone  hadn't  got  home  yit,  and 
thar  wa'n't  a  sign  of  a  light  about  the 
place.  So  Jim  lef  the  ole  folks  setting 
101 


travelers  jftve 


in  the  wagon,  and  went  in  to  break  the 
news  to  M'randy,  knowin'  what  a  high- 
tempered  piece  she  is  at  times.  He  said 
she  was  settin'  on  the  doorstep  in  her  bare 
feet  and  dirty  ole  linsey-woolsey  dress, 
jawin'  little  William.  She'd  ben 
a-makin'  soap  all  day,  and  was  dead  tired. 

"  When  Jim  tole  her  what  'twas,  the 
surprise  seemed  to  strike  her  all  of  a 
heap.  She  never  made  a  move  to  git  up, 
and  as  soon  as  she  could  git  her  breath 
she  begun  to  splutter  like  blue  blazes. 
She  said  some  folks  had  more  burdens 
laid  onto  their  shoulders  than  by  rights 
was  their  share,  and  she  couldn't  see  what 
made  them  ole  people  come  trackin'  out 
where  they  was  neither  wanted  nor  ex- 
pected. She  hadn't  no  airthly  use  for  that 
stuck-up  ole  Mis'  Ratcliffe,  if  she  was 
Boone's  mother.  Oh,  she  jest  talked  up 
scan'lous. 

"  Jim  he  was  afraid  they  would  hear 
102 


traveler 


her  clear  out  in  the  road,  so  he  kep'  tryin' 
to  smooth  her  down,  and  then  he  went  out 
and  tried  to  smooth  things  over  to  the  ole 
people.  By  the  time  they'd  climbed  out'n 
the  wagon  and  walked  up  the  path,  Will- 
iam had  lit  a  candle,  and  she  was  holdin' 
it  over  her  head  in  the  doorway.  The 
way  Jim  tole  it  I  could  jest  see  how  they 
stood  lookin'  at  each  other,  like  as  they 
was  takin'  their  measures.  Jim  said  they 
both  seemed  to  see  the  difference, 
M'randy  so  frowsy  and  common-lookin', 
for  all  her  prettiness,  and  the  ole  lady  so 
fine  and  aristocratic  in  her  elegant  dress 
and  bunnit.  He  said  he'd  never  fergit 
how  white  and  tired-lookin'  their  old 
faces  showed  up  in  the  candle-light,  and 
sort  of  disapp'inted,  too,  over  the  wel- 
come they'd  ben  expectin'  and  didn't  git. 
"  M'randy  didn't  even  offer  to  shake 
hands.  After  she'd  stared  a  minute  she 
said,  sorter  stiff-like,  *  Well,  I  s'pose  you 
103 


ZTravelere  ]fi\>e 


may  as  well  come  on  in.'  Jim  says  there 
was  tears  in  the  ole  lady's  eyes  when  she 
follered  M'randy  into  the  cabin,  but  she 
wiped  'em  away  real  quick,  and  spoke  up 
cheerful  to  ole  Mr.  Ratcliffe. 

"  The  room  was  in  such  a  muss  there 
wa'n't  an  empty  chair  to  set  on  tell 
M'randy  jerked  the  things  off  two  of  m 
and  kicked  the  stuff  out  of  sight  under 
the  bed.  Then  she  dusted  'em  with  her 
apron,  and  said  in  a  long-sufferin'  sort  of 
tone  that  she  reckoned  'twas  about  as 
cheap  settin'  as  standin'. 

"  Ole  Mis'  Ratcliffe  tried  to  apologize 
fer  comin'.  She  said  that  their  daughter 
back  in  Maryland  tried  to  keep  'em  from 
it,  but  that  Boone  couldn't  come  to  them, 
and  it  had  been  ten  years  since  he  had  left 
home,  and  they  felt  they  must  see  him 
once  more  before  they  died.  Jim  said 
it  was  so  pitiful  the  way  she  talked  that 
he  got  all  worked  up." 
104 


traveler 


"  Why  didn't  they  turn  right  around 
and  go  home  the  next  day?  "  cried  the 
girl,  with  flashing  eyes.  "  That's 
M'randy  all  over  again  when  she  once 
gits  her  temper  up,  but  people  as  rich  as 
them  don't  have  to  put  up  with  nobody's 
high  and  mighty  ways." 

"  They  are  not  rich  any  more,"  was  the 
answer.  "  A  few  years  ago  they  lost  all 
they  had,  slaves,  land,  and  everything, 
and  their  married  daughter  in  Baltimore 
is  takin'  care  of  'em.  She  was  sure  they 
wouldn't  find  it  agreeable  out  here,  so 
she  provided  the  money  for  'em  to  come 
back  on;  but  the  ole  man  lost  his  wallet 
comin'  down  on  that  flatboat,  and  they 
don't  feel  as  they  could  write  back  and 
ask  her  for  more.  She's  good  to  'em  as 
can  be,  but  she  hasn't  got  any  more  than 
she  needs,  and  they  hate  to  ask  for  it. 
That's  why  the  ole  lady  is  here  to-day, 
takin'  Mis'  Potter's  place.  Boone  per- 
105 


travelers  five 


suaded  her  to  come,  and  tole  her  if  she 
could  make  as  much  as  Mis'  Potter  al- 
ways does,  it  will  be  enough  to  pay  their 
way  back  to  Maryland.  He  helped  her 
get  ready.  I  don't  know  what  he  said  to 
M'randy  to  make  her  stand  aside  and  not 
interfere,  but  she  made  up  the  ginger- 
bread as  meek  as  Moses,  and  let  Jim  roll 
the  barrel  of  cider  out  of  the  smoke-house 
without  a  word." 

"  Why  don't  Boone  scratch  around  and 
raise  the  money  somehow?"  put  in  the 
man,  who  had  chewed  in  interested  si- 
lence as  he  listened  to  the  story.  Now 
he  stopped  to  bite  another  mouthful  from 
a  big  twist  of  tobacco  he  took  from  his 
broadcloth  coat  pocket 

"  'Pears  like  their  only  son  is  the  one 
that  ought  to  do  fer  'em,  and  at  least  he 
could  make  M'randy  shut  up  and  treat 
his  parents  civil." 

"  Boone!  "  sniffed  the  woman.  "  Why, 
106 


Gbfrfc  traveler 


he's  under  M'randy's  thumb  so  tight  that 
he  dassent  sneeze  if  she  don't  take  snuff. 
Besides,  he's  ben  on  the  flat  of  his  back 
off  and  on  all  summer,  with  dumb  ague. 
It's  run  into  a  slow  fever  now,  and  it  takes 
every  picayune  they  can  scrape  together 
to  git  his  medicines.  Then,  too,  M'randy 
sprained  her  ankle  a  month  or  so  back, 
and  things  have  been  awful  sence  then. 
The  ole  man  he  don't  realize  he  is  in  the 
way,  he's  so  childish  and  broken  down. 
He  jest  sorter  droops  around,  pinin'  for 
the  comforts  he's  always  ben  used  to,  in  a 
way  that  almost  breaks  his  ole  wife's 
heart.  She  feels  it  keen  enough  for  both 
of  'em,  because  she  can't  bear  to  see  him 
lackin'  anything  he  needs,  and  she'd 
rather  die  than  be  a  burden  to  any- 
body. 

"  I  tell  Jim  I'm  sorry  for  the  whole  set, 
and  I  can  see  it  isn't  the  pleasantest  thing 
for  M'randy  to  give  up  a  room  to  them 
107 


{Travelers  five 


when  thar's  only  two  in  the  cabin,  and 
her  ways  ain't  their  ways,  and  their  bein' 
thar  puts  everything  out  of  joint;  but  Jim 
he  sides  with  the  ole  people.  He's  mighty 
sorry  for  'em,  and  would  have  put  his 
hand  in  his  own  pocket  and  paid  their 
expenses  long  ago  back  to  Maryland,  ef 
he'd  a-ben  able.  He's  ben  a  great  com- 
fort to  the  ole  lady,  he's  jest  that  soft- 
hearted. I  hope  she'll  sell  out  as  fast  as 
Mis'  Potter  always  done." 

Before  the  girl  could  echo  her  wish, 
there  was  a  discordant  scraping  inside  the 
tent,  a  sound  of  the  band  beginning  to 
tune  their  instruments.  Instantly  there 
was  a  rush  toward  the  tent,  and  all  three 
of  the  little  group  sprang  to  their  feet. 
The  little  woman  looked  wildly  around 
for  Jim,  with  such  an  anxious  expression 
that  the  clown  lingered  a  moment,  re- 
gardless of  the  stream  of  people  pouring 
into  the  entrance  so  near  him  that  the  cur- 
108 


traveler 


tain  which  screened  him  from  public 
view  was  nearly  torn  down.  He  waited 
until  he  saw  a  burly,  good-natured  man 
push  his  way  through  the  crowds  and 
transfer  the  heavy  baby  from  the  woman's 
tired  arms  to  his  broad  shoulder.  Then 
he  turned  away  with  a  queer  little  smile 
on  his  painted  face. 

"  He's  jest  that  soft-hearted,"  he  re- 
peated, half  under  his  breath.  The 
woman's  story  had  stirred  him  strangely. 
"  It's  a  pity  there's  not  more  like  him," 
he  continued.  "  I  guess  that  too  few  Jims 
and  too  many  M'randys  is  what  is  the 
matter  with  this  dizzy  old  planet." 

"  What's  that  ye're  grumbling  about, 
Humpty  Dumpty? "  asked  the  pock- 
marked Irishman  as  he  came  up  with  his 
nine-banded  armadillo,  all  ready  for  the 
performance.  Then  in  his  most  profes- 
sional tones:  "If  it  is  the  toothache  yez 
have  now,  I'll  be  afther  curing  it  en- 
109 


{Travelers 


toirely  wid  wan  touch  of  this  baste 
from " 

"Oh,  get  out!"  exclaimed  the  clown, 
putting  his  hand  on  the  tall  Irishman's 
shoulder  and  springing  lightly  down 
from  the  barrel.  "  I'm  dead  sick  of  all 
this  monkey  business.  If  it  wasn't  a  mat- 
ter of  bread-and-butter  I  wouldn't  laugh 
again  in  a  year." 

"  Ye  couldn't  make  anybody  out  there 
in  that  big  aujence  belave  it,"  laughed 
the  Irishman.  "  They  think  yer  life  is 
wan  perpetooal  joke;  that  ye're  a  joke 
yerself  for  that  matther,  a  two-legged 
wan,  done  up  in  cap  and  bells." 

"  You're  right,"  said  the  clown  bitterly, 
looking  askance  at  his  striped  legs.  "  But 
1  a  man's  a  man  for  a'  that  and  a'  that,' 
and  he  gets  tired  sometimes  of  always 
being  taken  for  a  jesting  fool.  Curse  this 
livery!" 

The  Irishman  looked  at  him  shrewdly, 
no 


Gbtrfc  traveler 


"  Ye  should  have  gone  in  for  a  'varsity 
cap  and  gown,  and  Oi've  been  thinking 
that  maybe  ye  did  start  out  that  way." 

A  dull  red  glowed  under  the  paint  on 
the  clown's  face,  and  he  ran  into  the  ring 
in  response  to  the  signal  without  a  reply. 
A  thundering  round  of  applause  greeted 
him,  which  broke  out  again  as  he  glanced 
all  around  with  a  purposely  silly  leer. 
Then  he  caught  sight  of  Jim's  honest 
face,  smiling  expectantly  on  him  from 
one  of  the  front  benches.  It  struck  him 
like  a  pain  that  this  man  could  not  look 
through  his  disguise  of  tawdry  circus 
trappings,  and  see  that  a  man's  heart  was 
beating  under  the  clown's  motley.  There 
came  a  sudden  fierce  longing  to  tear  off 
his  outward  character  of  mountebank, 
for  a  moment,  and  show  Jim  the  stifled 
nature  underneath,  noble  enough  to  rec- 
ognize the  tender  chivalry  hidden  in  the 
rough  exterior  of  the  awkward  back- 
in 


{Travelers  Jfive 


woodsman,  and  to  be  claimed  by  him  as 
a  kindred  spirit. 

As  he  laughed  and  danced  and  sang, 
no  one  dreamed  that  his  thoughts  kept 
reverting  to  scenes  that  the  woman's  story 
had  called  up,  or  that  a  plan  was  slowly 
shaping  in  his  mind  whereby  he  might 
serve  the  homesick  old  soul  waiting  out 
under  the  oak-tree  for  the  performance 
to  be  done. 

No  wonder  that  people  accustomed  to 
seeing  old  Mrs.  Potter  in  that  place, 
gowned  in  homespun,  and  knitting  a 
coarse  yarn  sock,  had  stopped  to  stare  at 
the  newcomer.  Such  a  type  of  high-born, 
perfect  ladyhood  had  never  appeared  in 
their  midst  before.  The  dress  that  she 
wore  was  a  relic  of  the  old  Maryland 
days;  so  was  the  lace  cap  that  rested  like 
a  bit  of  rare  frost-work  on  her  silvery 
hair.  Mrs.  Potter  knew  everybody  for 
miles  around,  and  was  ready  to  laugh  and 
112 


ZTbirb  traveler 


joke  with  any  one  who  stopped  at  her 
stand.  Mrs.  Ratcliffe  sat  in  dignified  si- 
lence, a  faint  colour  deepening  in  her 
cheeks  like  the  blush  of  a  winter  rose.  It 
was  so  much  worse  than  she  had  antici- 
pated to  have  these  rude  strangers  staring 
at  her,  as  if  she  were  a  part  of  the  show. 
She  breathed  a  sigh  of  relief  when  the 
music  began,  for  it  drew  the  crowds  into 
the  tent  as  if  by  magic.  She  and  little 
William  were  left  entirely  alone. 

With  the  strident  boom  of  the  bass  viol 
came  the  rank  smell  of  the  dog-fennel 
that  hurrying  feet  had  left  bruised  and 
wilting  in  the  sun.  All  the  rest  of  her 
life,  that  warm,  weedy  odour  always 
brought  back  that  humiliating  experience 
like  a  keen  pain.  The  horses  in  the  sur- 
rounding grove  stamped  restlessly  and 
whinnied  as  they  switched  off  the  flies. 
The  long  ride  and  the  unaccustomed  la- 
bour of  the  morning  had  exhausted  her. 


travelers  five 


She  began  to  nod  in  her  chair,  giving 
herself  up  to  a  sense  of  drowsiness,  for  as 
long  as  the  people  were  in  the  tent  she 
would  have  no  occupation. 

Her  white  head  dropped  lower  and 
lower,  until  presently  she  was  oblivious  to 
all  surroundings.  Little  William,  sitting 
on  the  old  wood-sled  with  his  back 
against  the  cider  barrel,  was  forgotten. 
M'randy  and  the  ill-kept  cabin  vanished 
entirely  from  her  memory.  She  was  back 
in  the  old  Maryland  days  on  her  father's 
plantation,  hedged  about  with  loving 
forethought,  as  tenderly  sheltered  as  some 
delicate  white  flower.  Every  path  had 
been  made  smooth  for  her,  every  wish  an- 
ticipated all  her  life  long,  until  that  day 
when  they  had  set  their  faces  westward 
to  find  Boone.  It  was  coming  down  the 
Ohio  on  that  long  journey  by  flatboat  that 
she  suddenly  woke  to  the  knowledge  that 
her  husband's  illness  had  left  him  a 
114 


broken-down  old  man,  as  weak  and  irre- 
sponsible as  a  child. 

But  mercifully  her  dreams  were  back 
of  that  time.  They  were  back  with  Boone 
in  his  gay  young  boyhood,  when  he 
danced  minuets  with  the  Governor's 
daughter,  and  entertained  his  college 
friends  in  lordly  style  on  the  old  planta- 
tion. Back  of  that  time  when  the  rest- 
lessness of  his  'teens  sent  him  roving  over 
the  Alleghanies  to  the  frontier,  regardless 
of  their  long-cherished  ambitions  for  him. 
Back  of  the  time  when  in  a  sudden  mad 
whim  he  had  married  a  settler's  pretty 
daughter,  whom  he  was  ashamed  to  take 
back  to  civilization  when  he  thought  of 
the  Baltimore  belles  to  whom  he  had  paid 
boyish  court.  He  had  not  stopped  to  con- 
sider her  rough  speech  and  uncouth  man- 
ners. He  had  been  a  long  time  out  in  the  ' 
wilderness,  he  was  only  twenty,  and  her 
full  red  lips  tempted  him. 
"5 


travelers  five 


If  the  dreams  could  only  have  stopped 
then,  that  little  space  she  slept,  while  the 
circus  band  thrummed  and  drummed  in- 
side the  tent,  and  the  shadows  of  the  hot 
August  afternoon  lengthened  under  the 
still  trees  outside,  would  have  been  a 
blessed  respite.  But  they  repeated  the 
unpleasant  parts  as  well.  They  came  on 
down  to  the  night  of  that  unwelcome  ar- 
rival. They  showed  her  the  days  when 
Boone  lay  prostrated  with  a  slow  mala- 
rial fever;  the  days  when  the  fierce  heat 
made  him  drag  his  pallet  desperately 
from  one  corner  to  another  across  the 
bare  puncheons,  trying  to  find  a  spot 
where  he  could  be  comfortable.  She 
could  see  him  lying  as  he  had  so  often 
lain,  with  his  face  turned  toward  the  back 
door,  looking  out  with  aching  eyes  on  the 
tall  corn  that  filled  the  little  clearing.  In 
his  feverish  wanderings  he  complained 
that  it  was  crowding  up  around  the  house 
116 


traveler 


trying  to  choke  him.  And  there  was  little 
William,  little  nine-year-old  William, 
sitting  on  the  floor  beside  him,  attempt- 
ing to  flap  away  the  flies  with  a  bunch  of 
walnut  leaves.  There  were  long  intervals 
sometimes  when  the  heat  overpowered 
the  child  with  drowsiness.  Then  the  wal- 
nut branch  wavered  uncertainly  or 
stopped  in  mid-air,  while  he  leaned 
against  the  table  leg  with  closed  eyes  and 
open  mouth.  Sometimes  Miranda  slept 
on  the  door-step,  bare-footed,  as  usual, 
with  a  dirty  bandage  around  her  sprained 
ankle. 

In  that  short  sleep  she  seemed  to  relive 
the  whole  summer,  that  had  dragged  on 
until  her  sense  of  dependence  grew  to  be 
intolerable.  Miranda's  shrill  complain- 
ing came  penetrating  again  into  the  tiny 
room  where  she  sat  by  her  husband's  bed, 
and  the  old  head  was  bowed  once  more 
on  his  pillow  as  she  sobbed :  "  Oh,  Will- 
117 


ftravelera  jftve 


iam,  dear  heart,  if  the  Lord  would  only 
take  us  away  together!  I  cannot  bear  to 
be  a  burden  to  any  one!"  It  was  the 
sound  of  her  own  sobbing  that  awakened 
her,  and  she  sat  up  with  a  sudden  start, 
realizing  that  she  had  been  asleep.  She 
must  have  slept  a  long  time.  In  that  in- 
terval of  unconsciousness  the  tavern- 
keeper  from  Burnville  had  erected  a  rival 
stand  a  few  rods  away. 

She  saw  with  dismay  his  attractive  dis- 
play of  "  store  "  goods.  Then  her  face 
flushed  as  he  began  to  set  out  whisky  bot- 
tles and  glasses.  Her  first  impulse  was 
to  gather  up  her  belongings  and  get  home 
as  quickly  as  possible.  In  her  perplexity 
she  looked  around  for  little  William. 
Regarding  a  circus  with  such  contempt 
herself,  it  had  never  occurred  to  her  that 
he  would  care  to  see  it. 

He  was  a  timid  little  fellow,  who  al- 
ways hid  when  company  came  to  the 
118 


traveler 


house,  and  he  had  never  been  away  from 
home  more  than  a  dozen  times  in  his  life. 
The  crowds  frightened  him,  and  he 
stayed  as  closely  as  a  shadow  at  his  grand- 
mother's elbow  until  the  music  began. 
Then  he  forgot  himself.  It  thrilled  him 
indescribably,  and  he  watched  with  long- 
ing eyes  as  the  people  crowded  into  the 
tent.  It  seemed  to  him  that  he  must  cer- 
tainly go  wild  if  he  could  not  follow,  but 
they  had  sold  nothing.  Even  if  they  had, 
he  would  not  have  dared  to  ask  for 
enough  money  to  pay  his  admission,  it 
seemed  such  an  enormous  sum.  As  she 
began  to  nod  in  her  chair  he  began  to 
edge  nearer  the  tent.  He  could  catch  now 
and  then  a  word  of  the  clown's  jokes,  and 
hear  the  roars  of  laughter  that  followed. 
When  the  clown  began  to  sing,  William 
had  one  ear  pressed  against  the  tent. 
People  clapped  and  cheered  uproari- 
ously at  the  last  line  of  every  stanza.  He 
119 


jftve 


could  not  hear  enough  of  the  words  to 
understand  why.  In  the  general  commo- 
tion he  was  conscious  of  only  one  thing: 
he  was  on  the  outside  of  that  tent,  and  he 
must  get  inside  or  die. 

Regardless  of  consequences,  he  threw 
himself  on  the  grass  and  wriggled  around 
until  he  succeeded  in  squeezing  himself 
under  the  canvas.  There  was  a  moment 
of  dizzy  bewilderment  as  he  sat  up  and 
looked  around.  Then  some  cold,  squirm- 
ing thing  touched  the  back  of  his  neck. 
He  gave  a  smothered  cry  of  terror;  it 
was  the  elephant's  trunk.  He  had  come 
up  directly  under  the  animal  "  from 
t'other  side  of  the  world,  that  could  eat 
a  six-foot  cock  of  hay  at  one  meal." 

As  he  sat  there,  shivering  and  blubber- 
ing, afraid  to  move  because  he  did  not 
know  which  end  of  the  clumsy  monster 
was  head  and  which  tail,  he  heard  a  loud 
guffaw.  The  pock-marked  Irishman 
120 


traveler 


who  had  charge  of  the  nine-banded  arma- 
dillo had  seen  the  little  side-show,  and  it 
doubled  him  up  with  laughter.  He 
roared  and  slapped  his  thigh  and  laughed 
again  until  he  was  out  of  breath.  Then 
he  gravely  wiped  his  eyes  and  drew  the 
boy  out  from  under  the  great  animal. 
William  clung  to  him,  sobbing.  Then 
the  warm-hearted  fellow,  seeing  that  he 
was  really  terrified,  took  him  around  and 
showed  him  all  the  sights.  In  the  delight 
of  that  hour,  home,  grandmother,  and  the 
world  outside  were  completely  forgotten. 
Meanwhile,  Mrs.  Ratcliffe  sat  wonder- 
ing what  had  become  of  the  boy.  People 
began  to  straggle  out  of  the  tent.  There 
was  to  be  another  performance  after  dark, 
and  she  expected  to  find  her  customers 
among  those  who  stayed  for  that.  The 
tavern-keeper  began  calling  attention  to 
his  refreshments  in  a  facetious  way  that 
drew  an  amused  crowd  around  him.  Her 
121 


^Travelers  jfive 


hopes  sank,  as  group  after  group  passed 
her  without  stopping.  Two  young  fel- 
lows from  the  village  who  had  been 
drinking  pushed  roughly  against  her 
table. 

"Hi,  Granny!"  hiccoughed  one  of 
them.  "  Purty  fine  doughnuts,  ole  girl!  " 
He  gathered  up  a  plateful,  and  tried  to 
find  his  pocket  with  unsteady  fingers. 
She  stood  up  with  a  sickening  feeling  of 
helplessness,  and  looked  around  appeal- 
ingly.  Just  then  a  heavy  hand  struck  the 
fellow  in  the  mouth,  and  jerked  him  back 
by  his  coat-collar.  The  pock-marked 
Irishman,  to  whom  the  bewildered  little 
William  still  clung,  had  undertaken  to 
find  the  boy's  grandmother  for  him.  The 
child's  artless  story  had  aroused  his 
warmest  sympathies,  and  nothing  could 
have  given  him  greater  pleasure  than  this 
opportunity  to  fight  for  her. 

"  Put  thim  back,  you  ugly  thafe  o'  the 
122 


traveler 


worruld,"  he  roared,  "  or  Oi'll  throw  yez 
entoirely  over  the  sorcuss  tint!  " 

The  man  bristled  up  for  a  fight,  but 
one  look  into  the  big  Irishman's  glower- 
ing eyes  sobered  him  enough  to  make  him 
drop  the  cakes  and  slink  away. 

The  Irishman  looked  embarrassed  as 
Mrs.  Ratcliffe  began  to  thank  him  with 
tears  in  her  eyes,  and  hurried  back  to  the 
tent.  The  look  of  distress  deepened  on 
her  face.  Everybody  passed  her  table 
for  the  one  made  popular  by  the  loud- 
voiced  man  who  knew  so  well  how  to 
advertise  his  wares.  With  a  stifled  groan 
she  looked  around  on  the  great  pile  of 
provisions  she  had  brought.  What  quan- 
tities of  good  material  utterly  wasted! 
What  would  Miranda  say? 

As  she  looked  around  her  in  dismay, 

she  saw  the  clown  coming  toward  her, 

still  in  his  cap  and  bells.     He  had  been 

watching  the  scene  from  a  distance.    Her 

123 


{Travelers  jfive 


distress  was  pitiful.  To  be  compelled  to 
wait  on  this  jesting  fool  like  any  common 
bar-maid  would  fill  her  cup  of  degrada- 
tion to  overflowing.  What  could  she  do 
if  he  accosted  her  familiarly  as  he  did 
every  one  else? 

He  leaned  over  and  took  off  his  gro- 
tesque cap.  "  Madam,"  he  said,  in  a  low, 
respectful  tone,  "  I  have  no  money,  but  if 
you  will  kindly  give  me  a  cake  and  a  mug 
of  cider,  you  shall  soon  have  plenty  of 
customers." 

Greatly  surprised,  she  filled  him  a  cup, 
wondering  what  he  would  do.  There  was 
a  rush  for  that  part  of  the  grounds  as  the 
hero  of  the  hour  appeared.  He  had  been 
funny  enough  in  the  ring,  but  now  they 
found  his  jokes  irresistible.  His  exag- 
gerated praises  of  all  he  ate  and  drank 
were  laughed  at,  but  everybody  followed 
his  example.  More  than  one  gawky  boy 
bought  something  for  the  sake  of  being 
124 


traveler 


made  the  subject  of  his  flattering  witti- 
cisms. The  tavern-keeper  called  and 
sang  in  vain.  As  long  as  the  clown  told 
funny  stories  and  praised  Mrs.  Ratcliffe's 
gingerbread,  all  other  allurements  were 
powerless.  He  stayed  with  her  until  the 
last  cake  had  been  bought  and  the  cider 
barrel  was  empty. 

It  was  nearly  sundown  when  she  started 
home.  Jim  came  up  to  roll  the  empty 
barrel  on  to  the  sled,  to  place  her  chair 
against  it,  and  help  little  William  hitch 
up  the  oxen ;  but  when  she  looked  around 
to  thank  the  little  clown,  he  had  disap- 
peared. No  one  could  tell  where  he  had 
gone. 

Never  in  her  girlhood,  rolling  home  in 
the  stately  family  coach  from  some  gay 
social  conquest,  had  she  felt  so  victorious. 
She  jingled  the  silk  reticule  at  her  side 
with  childish  pleasure.  She  could  hardly 
wait  for  the  slow  oxen  to  plod  the  two 
125 


Gravelere  jfive 


long  miles  toward  home,  and  when  they 
stopped  in  front  of  the  little  cabin  she  was 
trembling  with  eagerness.  Hurrying  up 
the  path  through  the  gathering  dusk,  she 
poured  her  treasure  out  on  her  husband's 
bed. 

"  Look!  "  she  cried,  laying  her  face  on 
the  pillow  and  slipping  an  arm  around 
his  neck.  "  We  are  going  back  to  Mary- 
land, dear  heart!"  She  nestled  her 
faded  cheek  against  his  with  a  happy  lit- 
tle sob.  "  Oh,  William,  we  need  not  be 
a  burden  any  longer,  for  we're  going 
home  to-morrow!" 

Later,  the  full  August  moon  swung  up 
over  the  edge  of  the  forest.  It  flooded 
the  little  clearing  with  its  white  light, 
and  turned  the  dusty  road  in  front  of  the 
cabin  to  a  broad  band  of  silver.  A  slow, 
steady  tramp  of  many  feet  marching 
across  a  wooden  bridge  in  the  distance 
126 


traveler 


fell  on  the  intense  stillness  of  the  summer 
night. 

"  It's  the  circus,"  said  Boone,  raising 
his  head  to  listen.  "  I  reckon  they're 
travellin'  by  night  on  account  of  the  heat, 
and  they'll  be  pushin'  on  down  to  the 


river." 


His  wife  limped  to  the  door  and  sat 
down  on  the  step  to  watch  for  its  coming, 
but  his  mother  hurried  out  to  the  fence 
and  leaned  across  the  bars,  waiting. 

A  strange  procession  of  unwieldy 
monsters,  never  before  seen  in  this  peace- 
ful woodland,  loomed  up  in  the  distance, 
huge  and  black,  while  a  stranger  proces- 
sion of  fantastic  shadows  stalked  grimly 
by  its  side.  The  sleepy  keepers  dozed  in 
their  saddles,  filing  by  in  ghostly  silence, 
save  for  the  clanking  of  trace-chains  and 
the  creaking  of  the  heavy  lion  cages. 

At  the  extreme  end  of  the  long  line 
came  the  tired  little  clown  on  the  trick 
127 


mule.  A  sorrier-looking  object  could  not 
be  imagined,  as  he  sat  with  his  knees 
drawn  up  and  his  head  bent  dejectedly 
down.  He  did  not  notice  the  figure  lean- 
ing eagerly  over  the  bars,  until  she  called 
him.  Then  he  looked  up  with  a  start. 
The  next  instant  he  had  dismounted  and 
was  standing  bare-headed  in  the  road  be- 
fore her.  The  moonlight  made  a  halo 
of  her  white  hair,  and  lighted  up  her 
gentle,  aristocratic  face  with  something 
of  its  old  high-born  beauty. 

"  I  wanted  to  thank  you,"  she  said, 
holding  out  her  slender  hand  to  the 
painted  little  jester  with  the  gracious  dig- 
nity that  had  always  been  her  charm. 
"  You  disappeared  this  afternoon  before 
I  could  tell  you  how  much  your  courtesy 
has  done  for  me  and  mine." 

He  bowed  low  over  the  little  hand. 

"  I  bid  you  farewell,  sir,"  she  added 
gently.  "The  truest  gentleman  I  have 
128 


traveler 


met  in  many  a  dayl "  It  was  the  recog- 
nition that  he  had  craved.  She  had  seen 
the  man  through  the  motley.  He  looked 
up,  his  face  glowing  as  if  that  womanly 
recognition  had  knighted  him;  and  with 
the  remembrance  of  that  touch  resting  on 
him  like  a  royal  accolade,  he  rode  on 
after  the  procession,  into  the  depths  of 
the  moonlighted  forest. 


129 


fourth  traveler 


Snatbcrs 
of  an  f  nberftefc  Circus 


tlbe  ffourtb  traveler 


Snatbers 
of  an  Unberitefc  Circus 


ONLY  one  question  was  asked  in 
the   streets   of   Gentryville   that 
afternoon,  and  it  was  asked  from 
the  Court-house  Square  to  the  last  corner 
grocery  in  the  straggling  outskirts  : 

4<  If  you  were  an  undertaker  like  Wex- 
ley  Snathers,  and  had  a  circus  left  to  you 
by  will,  what  would  you  do  with  it?  " 
When  the  question  was  worn  threadbare 
in  business  circles,  it  was  taken  home  to 
bandy  around  the  village  supper-tables, 
with  the  final  insistent  emphasis,  "  Well, 
what  would  you  do,  anyhow,  if  you  were 
in  Wex  Snathers's  place?  " 

It  would  have  been  an  intense  relief  to 
the  man  in  question  if  the  village  could 
have  settled  the  problem  for  him.  Noth- 


£raveler0  five 


ing  had  ever  weighed  so  heavily  upon 
him,  not  even  the  responsibilities  of  his 
first  personally  conducted  funeral  occa- 
sion. 

All  the  afternoon  he  sat  in  the  rear  of 
his  little  coffin  shop,  floundering  again 
and  again  through  the  confusing  phrases 
of  a  legal  document  spread  out  before 
him.  It  notified  him  of  the  death  of  one 
Mortimer  Napoleon  Bennet,  a  travelling 
showman,  who  had  left  him  heir  to  pos- 
sessions valued  at  several  thousands  of 
dollars. 

So  bewildering  was  the  unexpected 
news  and  the  legal  terms  in  which  it  was 
conveyed,  that  it  was  some  time  before 
Wexley's  slow  brain  grasped  the  fact  that 
the  deceased  was  not  a  stranger,  but  only 
red-headed  "  Pole  "  Bennet,  an  old  play- 
fellow, who  had  run  away  from  home 
over  thirty  years  before.  Next,  his 
stumpy  forefinger  guided  his  spectacles 
134 


fourtb  traveler 


twice  through  the  entire  document  before 
he  realized  that  he  was  now  the  owner 
of  all  the  ungodly  goods  and  chattels 
enumerated  therein. 

"Lordy!"  he  groaned,  as  he  checked 
off  the  various  items.  "  Me,  a  deacon  in 
the  church,  to  be  ownin'  four  gilded  cir- 
cus chariots  and  a  steam  calliope,  to  say 
nothin'  of  a  trick  elephant  and  a  pair  of 
dancin'  cinnamon  bears.  It's  downright 
scandalous!  Pole  always  was  a-gittin' 
me  into  hot  water.  Meant  all  right! 
Had  a  heart  as  big  as  a  meetin'  house,  but 
he  was  at  the  bottom  of  every  lickin'  I 
ever  got  in  my  life.  Mebbe  not  havin' 
any  next  of  kin,  he  felt  he  sorter  owed  it 
to  me  to  make  me  his  heir." 

Again  his  finger  travelled  slowly  down 
the  page  to  the  clause  in  which  three 
freaks  connected  with  the  side  shows  were 
especially  commended  to  his  care  —  an 
armless  dwarf  and  the  Wild  Twins  of 


Gravelera  five 


Borneo.  The  lawyer's  letter  explained 
that  they  had  long  been  pensioners  upon 
the  bounty  of  the  deceased,  and  had  the 
promise  of  the  dying  man  that  "  Wex  " 
would  be  good  to  them. 

"Bug  the  luck!"  groaned  the  under- 
taker, as  the  full  meaning  of  this  clause 
also  dawned  upon  him.  "  Guardeen  to 
an  armless  dwarf  and  two  wild  twins  of 
Borneo!  Pole  oughtn't  to  'a'  done  me 
that  way.  I'll  be  the  laughing  stock  of 
the  town,  and  that'll  ruin  my  chances  for 
ever  with  Sade." 

Glowering  over  his  spectacles,  he 
leaned  through  the  open  window  and  spat 
testily  out  into  the  cluttered  back  yard. 
It  was  some  time  before  he  drew  in  his 
shoulders.  When  a  diffident  old  bachelor 
has  obstinately  courted  a  girl  for  a  dec- 
ade, he  naturally  falls  into  the  habit  of 
determining  every  act  of  his  life  by  the 
effect  it  will  have  upon  her. 
136 


Jfourtb  traveler 


In  this  case  he  could  not  imagine  what 
effect  his  queer  legacy  would  have  upon 
Sade  Cooper,  the  comely,  capable  spin- 
ster of  his  dreams.  She  had  made  up  her 
mind  to  marry  Wexley  Snathers  some 
day,  for  in  the  stout,  sandy-whiskered  lit- 
tle undertaker  she  recognized  an  honest 
soul  of  rare  worth.  On  the  occasion  of 
his  latest  proposal,  several  weeks  before, 
she  had  given  him  the  reason  for  her  re- 
peated refusals :  - 

"  I  never  could  get  along  with  your 
ma,  Wexley.  If  you  had  enough  to  keep 
me  in  one  house  and  old  Mis'  Snathers  in 
another,  I  might  think  of  marrying  you. 
But  she'd  try  to  get  me  under  her  thumb, 
same  as  she's  always  held  you,  and  your 
pa  before  you,  and  you  know  I  never 
could  stand  that,  so  you  might  as  well 
save  your  breath  on  that  question." 

Wexley  realized  the  hopelessness  of  his 
suit,  if  that  was  what  stood  in  the  way, 

137 


{Travelers  five 


and  since  Sade's  outspoken  confession  he 
had  almost  prayed  for  an  epidemic  to 
smite  the  healthy  little  village,  that  the 
undertaking  business  might  prove  more 
lucrative. 

Now,  as  he  sat  with  his  head  out  of  the 
window,  breathing  in  the  sweetness  of  an 
old  plum  tree  in  bloom  by  the  pump,  he 
began  to  wonder  if  this  unexpected  leg- 
acy would  not  solve  all  his  difficulties. 
If  the  circus  could  be  made  the  stepping- 
stone  for  his  desires  without  making  him 
ridiculous,  or  offending  Sade's  Puritan 
conscience,  then  Pole  would  indeed  have 
proved  himself,  for  once,  the  greatest  of 
benefactors. 

The  spring  breeze  bore  to  his  senses  the 
odour  of  the  plum-blooms  and  the  shouts 
of  boys  playing  ball  on  the  commons. 
"Poor  old  Pole!"  he  sighed,  following 
the  odour  and  the  sound  backward 
through  nearly  forty  other  springtimes, 
138 


fourtb  traveler 


to  the  first  and  only  circus  he  had  ever 
attended.  He  and  Pole  had  run  away  to 
see  it,  in  days  when  shows  were  forbidden 
ground.  How  vividly  he  remembered 
the  whole  glittering  pageant,  from  the 
gaily  caparisoned  horses  with  their  nod- 
ding red  plumes,  down  through  the 
gilded  coaches,  with  mirror  panels,  to  the 
last  painted  fool,  riding  backward  on  his 
donkey. 

The  sudden  opening  of  the  shop  door 
rang  a  bell  above  his  head.  He  started 
guiltily,  jerking  in  his  head  in  such  haste 
that  he  struck  it  with  a  bang  against  the 
window  sash.  His  first  impulse  was  to 
sweep  the  papers  on  his  desk  out  of  sight, 
but  as  he  recognized  the  voice  of  the 
genial  drummer  who  kept  him  supplied 
with  coffin  plates  and  trimmings,  he  was 
overpowered  by  a  longing  to  unburden 
his  soul.  So  strong  was  the  desire  that  he 
yielded  to  it  incontinently,  and  leaning 
139 


travelers  jftve 


over  the  counter  and  fixing  his  anxious 
little  eyes  on  the  drummer  he  almost 
whispered:  — 

"  Between  you  and  me  and  the  gate- 
post, Bailey,  what  would  you  do  if  you 
had  a  circus  left  you  by  will?" 

The  drummer's  laugh  at  what  he  sup- 
posed was  intended  for  a  joke  was 
checked  in  the  middle  by  the  tragic  ear- 
nestness of  the  questioner,  who  with  a 
wiggle  of  his  thumb  beckoned  him  mys- 
teriously to  inspect  the  legal  papers. 

"  There!  "  said  he,  "  set  down  and  give 
me  your  advice." 

Seeing  that  the  time  for  selling  coffin- 
plates  was  not  yet  come,  Bailey  gave  his 
attention  to  discovering  on  which  side 
Snathers  preferred  the  advice  to  fall,  and 
being  as  voluble  in  giving  advice  as  in 
the  selling  of  goods,  it  was  not  long  before 
he  had  nearly  convinced  his  customer 
that,  as  a  side-line  to  the  undertaking 
140 


ffourtb  traveler 


business,  there  was  nothing  on  earth  so 
desirable  as  a  circus.  "  Sell  it?  "  he  ex- 
claimed in  conclusion,  "  Not  by  a  jugful! 
It  will  make  your  fortune,  Snathers, 


sure." 


"  But  it  will  make  talk,"  protested 
Wex,  going  back  to  his  first  argument 
with  the  provoking  tenacity  of  slow 
minds.  "  I'm  afraid  it  will  hurt  the  un- 
dertaking, for  there'll  be  them  as  will  say 
they  wouldn't  have  a  showman  per- 
formin'  the  last  solemn  rites  for  them,  an' 
there'll  be  others  to  say  a  man  has  no 
right  to  carry  on  a  business  that's  a. 
stumblin'  block  and  an  offence."  He  was 
thinking  of  Sade. 

"  Oh,  that  doesn't  cut  any  ice,"  an- 
swered the  drummer,  cheerfully,  as  he 
closed  the  door  behind  him.  "  Go  in  and 
win!" 

The  news  travelled  fast  and  before 
dark  Wex  had  been  advised  to  sell  his 
141 


travelers  five 


circus,  to  run  it  on  shares,  to  have  the 
animals  killed  and  stuffed  as  a  nucleus 
for  a  village  museum.  He  was  assured 
of  success,  warned  of  ignominious  fail- 
ure, congratulated  on  his  luck  and  con- 
doled with  for  the  burden  laid  upon  him. 
He  was  admonished  that  it  was  his  Chris- 
tian duty  to  refuse  the  legacy,  and  told 
by  his  next  visitor  that  he  would  be  a 
darn  fool  if  he  did. 

He  had  aged  visibly  when  he  reached 
home,  where  he  knew  the  news  had  pre- 
ceded him  by  the  voice  of  his  mother  in 
the  kitchen,  high  and  shrill  above  the 
sputter  of  the  frying  fat.  She  stood, 
hawk-eyed  and  hawk-nosed,  fork  in  hand, 
talking  to  some  one  in  the  back  door. 

"  Well,"  she  was  saying,  decidedly, 
"  there  was  never  a  Snathers  yit,  far  as  I 
know,  that  even  went  to  a  circus,  and  no 
son  of  mine  shall  own  one  if  I  have  my 
say." 

142 


jTourtb  traveler 


The  answering  voice  was  as  decided  as 
her  own,  provokingly  cool  and  deliber- 
ate, but  the  sweetest  of  all  sounds  to  the 
anxious  eavesdropper.  He  flushed  to  the 
roots  of  his  sandy  hair  and  clutched  nerv- 
ously at  his  stubby  beard.  It  was  Sade's 
voice.  She  had  heard  the  news  and  had 
run  in  the  back  way,  in  neighbourly  vil- 
lage fashion,  to  ask  if  it  were  really  true. 
He  waited  breathlessly  for  her  an- 
swer: - 

"  And  /  think  Wex'd  feel  he  was  flying 
straight  into  the  face  of  Providence  not 
to  make  all  he  could  out  of  it,  even  if  he 
had  to  run  it  himself  for  awhile."  Then, 
startled  by  the  sneeze  that  betrayed  Wex- 
ley's  presence,  she  said  good-bye  so  hur- 
riedly that  he  had  only  a  glimpse  of 
a  white  sunbonnet,  fluttering  around  the 
corner. 

Armed  with  this  sanction,  Wexley 
called  that  evening  at  the  Cooper  cottage, 
143 


travelers 


where  Sade  kept  house  for  a  decrepit 
great-aunt.  But  she  had  heard  wild  ru- 
mours in  the  meantime  —  the  possibility 
of  his  adopting  the  armless  dwarf  and  the 
wild  twins  of  Borneo,  in  case  the  show 
business  did  not  pay.  But  on  being  anx- 
iously assured  that  there  was  nothing 
whatever  to  fear  in  that  direction  if  she 
would  only  marry  him,  she  confessed  that 
she  did  not  approve  of  his  running  a  cir- 
cus any  more  than  his  mother  did.  It  was 
only  her  chronic  disability  to  agree  with 
old  Mis'  Snathers  that  made  her  say  it. 

So  it  was  with  a  sorely  troubled  heart 
and  brain  that  Wexley  took  up  the  bur- 
den of  life  again  next  day.  He  had  a 
funeral  to  conduct  at  ten  o'clock,  and  he 
began  it  in  such  an  absent-minded  way 
that  he  might  have  made  scandalous  mis- 
takes, had  not  the  officiating  clergyman's 
text  —  Jeremiah,  xii:  9,  —  delivered  in  a 
high,  nasal  drawl,  brought  him  to  a  sud- 
144 


jfourtb  traveler 


den  decision:  "  Mine  heritage  is  unto  me 
as  a  speckled  bird.  The  birds  round 
about  are  against  her."  "  Yes,  even 
Sadel  "  he  thought.  And  such  is  the  per- 
versity of  human  nature  that  it  stirred 
him  to  espouse  the  cause  of  his  speckled 
bird.  As  he  led  the  slow  procession  out 
to  the  cemetery,  something  followed  him 
other  than  the  hearse  and  the  long  line 
of  carriages;  —  in  that  shadowy  proces- 
sion of  fancy,  black  hearse-plumes  gave 
place  to  the  nod,  nodding  of  red-plumed 
chariot  horses.  If  there  was  anything 
Wexley  Snathers  particularly  prided 
himself  upon,  it  was  the  effective  arrange- 
ment of  funeral  processions,  and  at  the 
tempting  thought  of  the  scope  for  his 
genius  circus  parades  would  afford,  the 
battle  with  his  conscience  was  won.  All 
the  past  called  out  loudly  not  to  venture 
on  any  road  where  Pole  Bennet's  feet  had 
left  a  track,  but  three  days  later  —  hoping 
145 


travelers  five 


that  old  Mr.  Hill  would  hold  on  to  life 
until  his  return  —  the  troubled  under- 
taker locked  the  door  of  his  little  coffin 
shop  and  fared  forth  to  claim  his  herit- 
age. 

It  is  not  often  that  a  dying  man  leaves 
his  earthly  affairs  so  thoroughly  provided 
for  as  did  Napoleon  Bennet,  yet  that 
astute  showman  reckoned  without  an  im- 
portant element  of  his  problem  when  he 
thought  to  put  the  armless  dwarf  in  his 
old  playfellow's  care.  He  had  not 
counted  on  the  twist  in  her  little  warped 
brain,  —  a  superstitious  dread  that 
amounted  almost  to  mania.  She  was 
afraid  of  undertakers  or  anything  con- 
nected with  their  gruesome  business.  A 
cold  terror  seized  her  when  she  learned 
she  was  about  to  fall  into  the  hands  of  a 
man  on  intimate  terms  with  Death  and 
his  pale  horse  and,  with  the  cunning  of 
146 


jfourtb  traveler 


her  kind,  she  began  laying  plans  that 
would  work  his  undoing. 

Wexley  first  saw  her  sitting  on  a  table, 
practising  her  one  accomplishment,  wri- 
ting her  autograph  with  her  toes.  "  Be 
thankful  for  your  arms.  Jane  Hutchins," 
she  penned  in  round,  childish  script. 

"  Blest  if  it  ain't  better  than  I  could 
do  myself  with  both  hands,"  declared 
Wexley,  admiringly.  Then,  remember- 
ing what  Pole  had  promised  about  his 
being  good  to  the  tiny  creature,  he  patted 
her  kindly  on  the  head.  She  drew  back 
with  an  inarticulate  cry  of  alarm,  turn- 
ing upon  him  the  face  of  a  woman  of 
thirty.  A  wild  look  of  aversion  gleamed 
in  her  little  beady  eyes. 

It  was  the  man's  turn  to  draw  back 
perplexed.  He  was  beginning  to  feel 
like  a  fish  out  of  water  —  powerless  to 
cope  with  the  emergencies  of  the  show 
business.  His  employees  had  not  been 


(Travelers  jfive 


long  in  taking  his  measure.  The  fat 
lady,  the  living  skeleton  and  the  leading 
clown,  after  looking  him  over,  decamped 
to  accept  the  offer  of  a  rival  showman. 
"  He's  too  soft  a  snap  for  me  to  leave!  " 
said  one  of  the  acrobats.  "  Why,  that  old 
skull-and-cross-bones  doesn't  know  any 
more  about  this  business  than  a  white 
kitten.  Didn't  even  know  he'd  have  to 
get  a  license  to  show,  or  the  whole  lay-out 
would  be  attached." 

Wexley,  overhearing  the  conversation, 
grew  weak  in  the  knees.  He  was  rap- 
idly becoming  disillusioned.  He  had 
been  disappointed  in  the  street  parade. 
All  the  remembered  glamour  was  lack- 
ing. It  looked  tawdry  and  silly  to  his 
mature  eyes,  and  he  was  ashamed  to  be 
seen  with  it.  He  had  just  learned  that  the 
wild  twins  had  never  seen  Borneo,  but 
were  only  tattooed  half-witted  orphans 
whom  Pole  had  picked  up,  and  were  not 
148 


ffburtb  traveler 


even  brothers.  He  was  puzzled  to  know 
how  he  had  incurred  the  uncanny  little 
dwarf's  displeasure,  but  he  would  have 
been  still  more  puzzled  could  he  have 
heard  her  whispering  hoarsely  to  the 
twins  of  Borneo,  as  she  held  their  fright- 
ened eyes  fixed  on  hers  in  a  fascinated 
gaze: — 

"  Remember,  you  promised  to  do  it  to- 
night. You  know  how  to  unlock  the 
cages.  He's  a  graveyard  man,  and  if 
you  don't  let  the  lion  eat  him  up,  he'll 
put  you  in  a  box  and  screw  the  cover 
down."  Here  her  voice  sank  to  a  series 
of  husky,  terrifying  groans.  "  He'll  — 
bury  —  you!  In  —  a  —  deep  —  black 
—  hole !  And  you'll  never  —  get  —  out!" 

Before  dark  Wexley  had  called  on 
Pole's  lawyer.  "  Advertise  it  for  sale  at 
half-price,"  he  said.  "  I'm  plumb  dis- 
gusted, and  want  to  get  home.  If  to- 
night's performance  hadn't  been  adver- 
149 


Graveiers  jflve 


tised  so  big,  I  wouldn't  risk  tryin'  to  give 
it.    I'm  dead  sure  it'll  be  a  failure." 

Of  that  evening's  performance,  all  that 
he  could  subsequently  relate  was  this: 
"  The  calliope  was  playin',  and  every- 
body was  clappin'  and  cheerin',  and  I  was 
wavin'  my  old  hat  and  cheerin'  too,  so 
pleased  that  the  performance  was  turning 
out  a  success,  when  that  old  elephant, 
Lulu,  stopped  short  in  the  ring  and  began 
to  trumpet.  That  sorter  paralyzed  me. 
I  felt  in  my  bones  that  something  was 
wrong.  Then  the  smoke  began  to  pour 
in,  and  somebody  yelled  the  lion  was 
loose.  Then  everything  seemed  to  go 
wild.  There  was  shoutin'  and  yellin'  and 
an  awful  stampede.  In  the  mix-up  I  got 
a  twisted  ankle,  and  somebody  stepped 
on  my  head.  That's  the  last  thing  I  knew 
till  morning." 

In  the  morning  he  was  lying  on  a  hos- 


yourtb  traveler 


pital  cot,  his  head  bandaged  and  his  ankle 
in  a  plaster  cast.  Sam  McCarthy,  the 
lion  tamer,  his  arm  in  a  sling,  had  come 
to  inquire  about  him. 

"  Well,  we  found  out  how  it  hap- 
pened," he  told  Wexley.  "  It  was  Jane's 
doings  —  the  little  minx  actually  boasted 
of  it.  She  struck  matches  with  her  toes 
and  set  fire  to  the  straw  in  a  dozen  places. 
How  those  gibbering  Borneo  idiots  ever 
let  the  lion  out  is  more  than  /  know,  but 
they're  strong  as  wildcats  at  times.  She 
says  she  made  'em  do  it;  —  never  could 
have  happened  in  Bennet's  time." 

"  I  know,"  replied  Wex,  wearily.    "  I 

-s'pose  it  was  my  fault  that  everything  was 

left  at  loose  ends,  but  it  was  all  so  con- 

fusin'.    They  didn't  save  much  out  of  the 

wreck,  did  they?  " 

"  No;  we  were  too  far  out  for  the  vol- 
unteer engine  company  to  get  there  in 
time.  Old  Lulu's  left,  and  the  calliope. 


{Travelers  jfive 


They  got  that  out,  and  the  dancing  bears 
and  the  horses.  But  such  things  as 
coaches,  clothes,  and  fol-de-rols  are  done 
for,  —  and  several  people  who  were  hurt 
are  going  to  bring  suit." 

The  undertaker  closed  his  eyes  and 
groaned.  "  And  no  insurance.  All  Gen- 
tryville  would  have  to  die  off  before  I 
could  raise  money  enough  to  pull  me  out 
now,"  he  murmured.  "  I  might  have 
known  that,  living  or  dead,  Pole  would 
get  me  into  trouble!  McCarthy!"  he 
exclaimed,  starting  up,  "  I  wish  you'd 
send  that  lawyer  down  here  to  me.  I 
want  to  get  shut  of  the  whole  blamed 
business  before  sundown.  It  ought  to  be 
settled  before  I  get  any  worse." 

There  was  a  crowd  around  the  bulletin- 
board  of  the  Gentryville  Chronicle,  bear- 
ing a  paragraph  from  one  of  the  big  city 
dailies.      People   stopped   to   read,    and 
152 


jfourtb  traveler 


pushed  on  with  shocked  faces  to  tell  their 
neighbours  that  Wexley  Snathers,  trying 
to  stop  the  stampede  at  the  burning  of  his 
circus,  had  been  fatally  trampled  and  had 
since  died  in  the  hospital  from  internal 
injuries. 

Old  Mrs.  Snathers  sat  in  her  darkened 
house,  tense  and  wild-eyed,  not  knowing 
at  what  hour  Wexley's  mangled  body 
might  be  laid  before  her.  Sade  refused 
to  believe  the  report,  until  confronted 
with  the  staring  headlines  in  which 
Wexley's  name  appeared  in  huge  black 
letters.  Then  her  remorse  and  self-re- 
proach were  almost  more  than  she  could 
endure. 

It  was  towards  night  of  the  third  day 
after  the  appearance  of  the  bulletin  that 
the  train  pulling  into  Gentryville  bore 
among  its  passengers  a  tired-looking  man 
on  crutches.  His  head  was  bandaged, 


travelers  tfive 


and  his  gray  linen  duster  bore  marks  of 
a  long  journey.  Climbing  down  the  steps 
farthest  from  the  station,  he  swung  him- 
self along  on  his  crutches  toward  the  little 
coffin  shop,  and  the  smell  of  varnish  that 
met  him  on  entering  was  like  the  greeting 
of  an  old  friend.  Ignorant  of  the  im- 
pression current  about  his  death,  he  had 
gone  first  to  the  shop  to  get  his  bearings 
before  meeting  the  eye  and  tongue  of  the 
village  public. 

Sitting  beside  the  open  back  window, 
his  first  feeling  was  one  of  relief.  The 
circus  was  a  thing  of  the  past.  The  law- 
yer had  assured  him  that  by  some  hook 
or  crook,  best  known  to  his  profession,  he 
could  undertake  to  settle  all  suits  to  the 
satisfaction  of  his  client.  He  had  also 
undertaken  to  consign  the  freaks  to  some 
public  institution  for  the  feeble-minded, 
and  for  his  services  he  was  willing  to  ac- 
cept the  very  things  that  had  grown  to  be 


Gbe  jfourtb  traveler 


the  bane  of  Wexley's  existence,  —  the 
remnants  of  the  circus. 

Here  he  was  at  last,  a  free  man,  al- 
though with  a  sore  head  and  a  sprained 
ankle.  The  next  thought  was  not  so 
pleasant.  He  was  farther  from  winning 
Sade  than  he  had  ever  been  before,  by 
the  whole  amount  of  his  doctors'  bills  and 
travelling  expenses.  Had  it  not  been  for 
his  feeling  that  it  was  almost  sacrilege  to 
curse  a  dead  man,  he  would  then  and 
there  have  anathematized  Pole  with  a 
glad  heart  but  with  a  vicious  gnashing  of 
teeth. 

As  he  sat  there  in  the  deepening  spring 
twilight,  a  tall  comely  figure  came 
through  the  little  gate  at  the  side  of  his 
shop  and  started  across  his  back  yard.  It 
was  the  short  cut  towards  his  home.  He 
started  forward  eagerly  as  he  recognized 
the  familiar  outlines  in  the  dusk,  and  the 
slow  sweep  of  skirts.  He  did  not  stop  to 


travelers  jftve 


wonder  why  she  should  be  going  to  his 
mother's  just  then.  His  only  feeling  was 
joy  that  his  eyes  rested  upon  her.  It 
seemed  years  since  he  had  seen  her  last. 
He  knocked  on  the  window-pane  to  at- 
tract her  attention. 

"  Sade!  Oh,  Sade!  "  he  cried,  leaning 
out  of  the  window,  his  linen  duster  gleam- 
ing ghostly  gray  in  the  twilight. 

The  startling  apparition,  looming  thus 
suddenly  out  of  the  coffin  shop,  froze  the 
woman's  very  soul.  With  a  terrified  cry 
she  sank  weakly  in  a  heap  on  the  ground, 
and  sat  there  shivering  and  gibbering, 
tears  of  fright  streaming  down  her  cold 
face. 

"Lord  'a'  mercy,  Sade!  What's  the 
matter? "  he  cried,  stumbling  over  his 
crutches  in  his  haste  to  unbolt  the  back 
door  and  get  to  her.  As  he  attempted  to 
raise  her  she  fell  limply  against  him, 
fainting. 

156 


Gbe  ffourtb  traveler 


"  '  Be  thankful  for  your  arms.  Jane 
Hutchins.'  "  chuckled  Wexley  under  his 
breath,  as  he  realized  that  for  the  first 
time  in  his  long  wooing  his  arms  were 
actually  around  her,  and  he  half  carried, 
half  dragged  her  to  the  door-step. 

Sade  was  not  given  to  hysterics,  but  her 
fright  at  seeing  what  she  supposed  was 
Wexley's  spirit,  and  the  relief  at  finding 
him  so  very  much  in  the  flesh  kept  her 
sobbing  and  laughing  alternately  for 
some  time.  And  the  time  was  all  too 
short  for  the  man  who  listened  to  her 
tearful  confession  of  remorse. 

As  he  helped  her  to  her  feet  he  said 
solemnly:  "  I'll  forgive  Pole  now  for  all 
the  trouble  he  ever  got  me  into.  Since 
this  circus  affair  has  made  you  change 
your  mind,  it's  the  best  job  he  ever  did 
in  his  life." 

Several  days  later  he  made  the  same 
remark  to  his  mother.  "  Humph ! "  she 
157 


{Travelers  five 


sniffed.  "  You  hain't  lived  with  her  yit." 
Wexley  whistled  softly  as  he  rubbed  up 
his  best  sample  coffin-plate,  with  which 
he  intended  to  adorn  the  parlour  wall,  as 
is  the  fashion  of  Gentryville.  He  would 
hang  it  up  on  his  wedding  day,  in  grate- 
ful memory  of  his  benefactor,  with  the 
name  "  Mortimer  Napoleon  Bennet "  en- 
graved upon  it.  At  present  it  bore  on  its 
shining  surface  in  large  ornate  letters 
only  the  inscription,  "  Rest  in  Peace." 


158 


traveler 


Bap,  Sloan 
t>ts  /iDount  of  flMsgab 


Gbe  ytftb  traveler 


Bap.  Sloan 
ZTo  f)fs  /Count  of 


I 


THROUGH  the  twilight  that 
filled  the  valley  a  winding 
white  pike  was  all  that  could  be 
seen  distinctly.  The  brown-furrowed 
corn-fields  were  blotted  out  in  the  dusk. 
Farm-houses  had  merged  their  outlines 
into  the  dark  mass  of  the  surrounding 
trees.  Only  the  apple-orchards  kept  their 
identity,  and  that  because  it  was  blossom- 
time,  and  the  dewy  night  air  was  heavy 
with  their  sweetness. 

Somewhat  back  from  the  pike,  yet  near 
enough  for  the  rattle  of  passing  wheels  to 
give  a  sense  of  companionship,  a  man  sat 
rocking  back  and  forth  in  a  narrow  vine- 
inclosed  porch.  He  was  in  his  shirt- 
sleeves, and  collarless,  and  the  slow  creak 
161 


travelers  five 


of  the  old  wooden  chair  seemed  to  voice 
his  physical  comfort  like  a  purr;  but  it 
by  no  means  expressed  the  state  of  his 
mind.  That  was  attuned  to  something 
wholly  melancholic,  like  the  croaking  of 
frogs  in  the  pond  below  his  house,  or  the 
far-away  baying  of  a  dismal-minded 
hound,  which,  tied  behind  some  cabin 
across  the  clearing,  was  making  the 
peaceful  Sabbath  evening  vibrant  with 
its  misery. 

"  I  can't  help  havin'  a  sort  of  fellow- 
feelin'  for  that  dawg,"  muttered  the  man, 
raising  his  head  to  listen,  and  passing  his 
hand  slowly  over  the  bald  spot  on  his 
crown.  "  Must  be  considerable  of  a  re- 
lief to  let  out  and  howl  like  that  when 
you  feel  bad.  There's  been  times  when 
I  wouldn't  'a'  minded  tryin'  it  myself  for 
a  spell." 

Then  he  settled  back  into  his  chair  with 
a  long-drawn  sigh.  He  was  awaiting  the 
162 


jfiftb  traveler 


second  ringing  of  the  church  bell.  The 
first  one  had  tolled  its  summons  through 
the  valley  nearly  an  hour  before,  and 
vehicles  were  beginning  to  rattle  along 
the  pike  toward  evening  service.  The 
little  frame  meeting-house,  known  as  the 
Upper  Beargrass  Church,  stood  in  a 
grove  of  cedars  just  beyond  Baptist 
Sloan's  potato-field.  It  was  near  enough 
for  any  one  sitting  on  his  porch  to  hear 
the  preacher's  voice  all  through  the  ser- 
mon, and  sometimes  when  he  waxed  elo- 
quent at  the  close,  in  a  series  of  shouted 
exhortations,  even  the  words  were  dis- 
tinctly audible. 

But  never  in  all  the  years  of  his  re- 
membrance had  Baptist  Sloan  listened  to 
the  services  of  the  sanctuary  from  his 
door-step.  On  the  few  occasions  that  ill- 
ness had  kept  him  at  home,  pain  and  mul- 
titudinous bedclothes  had  shut  out  all 
sound  of  song  or  sermon;  and  at  other 
163 


{Travelers  jfive 


times  he  was  the  most  punctual  attendant 
of  all  the  congregation,  not  excepting 
even  the  sexton.  People  wondered  why 
this  was  so,  for  he  was  pointed  out  as  the 
black  sheep  of  the  flock,  a  man  little  bet- 
ter than  an  infidel,  and  belonging  to  that 
stiff-necked  and  proud  generation  which 
merits  the  anathemas  of  all  right-minded 
people. 

That  he  was  a  riddle  which  Upper 
Beargrass  Church  had  been  trying  vainly 
to  read  for  thirty  years  was  a  fact  well 
known  to  the  reprobate  himself;  for  he 
had  been  openly  preached  at  from  the 
pulpit,  laboured  with  in  private,  and 
many  a  time  made  the  subject  of  special 
prayer.  So,  as  he  sat  on  the  porch  in  the 
dark,  with  only  the  croaking  of  the  frogs 
and  the  distant  baying  of  the  hound  to 
break  the  stillness,  it  was  with  no  surprise 
whatever  that  he  heard  his  own  name 
spoken  by  some  one  driving  up  the  pike. 
164 


jfiftb  traveler 


He  could  not  see  the  horse  that  plodded 
along  at  a  tortoise-like  gait,  or  the  old 
carryall  that  sagged  and  creaked  with  the 
weight  of  two  big  men  on  the  front  seat 
and  a  woman  and  three  children  on  the 
back;  but  he  recognized  the  voice  as  that 
of  Mrs.  Jane  Bowles.  Thin  and  strident, 
it  stabbed  the  stillness  like  the  rasping 
shrill  of  a  katydid.  She  was  leaning  for- 
ward to  speak  to  the  visiting  minister  on 
the  front  seat. 

"  We're  coming  to  Bap  Sloan's  house 
now,  Brother  Hubbs,"  she  called  in  high 
staccato.  "  I  want  you  should  rub  it  into 
him  good  to-night  in  your  sermon.  He's 
a  regular  wolf  in  sheep's  clothing,  if  ever 
there  was  one.  Twice  on  a  Sunday,  for 
fifty-two  weeks  in  the  year,  he's  sitting  in 
that  third  pew  from  the  front,  as  pious 
as  any  pillar  in  the  congregation.  You 
can  count  up  for  yourself  how  many  ser- 
mons he  must  have  heard,  for  he's  fifty, 
165 


{Travelers  3fi\>e 


if  he's  a  day.  But  in  spite  of  all  that  any- 
body can  say  or  do,  he  won't  be  immersed 
and  join.  He's  held  out  against  every- 
thing and  everybody  till  he's  gospel- 
hardened.  I  ain't  saying  he  doesn't  put 
into  the  collection-box  regular,  or  that  he 
ain't  a  moral  man  outwardly;  but  that 
outward  show  of  goodness  only  makes  his 
example  worse  for  the  young  folks.  I 
never  can  look  at  him  without  saying  to 
myself,  '  But  inwardly  ye  are  ravening 
wolves.' ' 

The  old  horse  had  crawled  along  al- 
most to  the  gate  by  this  time,  but  Sister 
Bowles,  not  being  able  to  see  any  one  on 
the  porch,  went  on,  serenely  unaware  of 
being  overheard. 

"  And  there's  Luella  Clark  that  he's 
courted  off  and  on  for  twenty  years.  It 
makes  me  real  mad  when  I  think  of  the 
good  offers  she's  had  and  let  slip  account 
of  him.  She  couldn't  marry  him,  being 
166 


jfiftb  traveler 


close  communion,  and  not  tolerating  the 
idea  of  being  '  unequally  yoked  together 
with  unbelievers.'  'Twouldn't  'a'  been 
right;  and  yet,  somehow,  she  didn't  seem 
to  be  quite  able  to  give  him  up,  when  that 
was  the  only  thing  lacking.  He'd  make 
a  good  husband,  for  there  never  was  a 
better  brother  lived  than  he  was  to  his 
sister  Sarah.  She  kept  house  for  him  till 
the  day  of  her  death.  They  say  that  last 
winter,  when  she  lay  there  a-dying,  she 
told  him  she  couldn't  go  easy  till  she  saw 
him  immersed ;  but  all  he'd  say  was, '  Oh, 
don't  ask  me!  I  can't  now,  Sarah.  Some 
day  I  will,  but  not  now.1 ' 

Here  the  preacher's  voice  broke  in  like 
the  deep  roll  of  a  bass  drum.    "  Has  this 

-  ah  —  young  woman  any  idea  of  what 

-  ah  —  produces  such  a  state  of  —  ah  - 
obstinacy  in  the  brother's  mind?" 

"  Not  an  i-dee!  "  was  the  reply,  jolted 
out  shrilly  as  the  carryall  struck  a  stone. 
167 


{Travelers  five 


"  Not  one  good  reason  could  he  give 
Luella  for  putting  off  attending  to  his 
soul's  salvation  and  trifling  away  his  day 
of  grace.  Not  one  good  reason,  even  to 
get  her  to  marry  him.  But  I  think  Luella 
is  getting  tired  of  dangling  along.  The 
other  day  I  heard  her  joking  about  that 
little  bald  spot  that's  beginning  to  show 
on  his  head,  and  I  noticed  that  Mr.  Sam 
Carter's  buggy  has  been  hitched  at  their 
gate  several  times  when  I've  happened  to 
be  passing.  He's  a  widower,  and  you 
know,  Brother  Hubbs,  that  when  widow- 
ers —  " 

The  loud  clanging  of  the  church  bell 
struck  Sister  Bowles's  sentence  in  the 
middle,  and  the  end  of  it  was  lost  to  the 
eager  ears  on  the  porch.  Although  this 
sound  of  the  church  bell  was  what  Bap- 
tist Sloan  had  been  waiting  to  hear  for 
the  last  hour,  he  did  not  rise  until  the 
final  echo  of  its  ringing  had  died  away 
168 


jfiftb  traveler 


in  the  farthermost  part  of  the  valley. 
Then  he  went  slowly  into  the  house  and 
lighted  a  lamp. 

The  open  door  into  the  kitchen  re- 
vealed the  table  where  he  had  eaten  his 
dinner  and  supper  without  removing  the 
soiled  dishes.  In  every  corner  was  the 
cheerless  look  that  betrays  the  lack  of  a 
woman's  presence.  He  had  done  his  own 
housekeeping  since  his  sister's  death  in 
the  early  winter.  As  he  passed  the  table 
he  gathered  up  a  plateful  of  scraps  which 
he  had  intended  to  give  to  the  cat,  but 
had  forgotten,  and  carried  it  out  to  the 
back  door-step.  He  tried  to  be  mindful 
of  the  old  creature's  comfort  for  his  sis- 
ter's sake;  but  he  was  an  absent-minded 
man,  irresolute  in  nearly  every  action, 
and  undecided  in  all  things  except  the 
one  for  which  the  neighbourhood  con- 
demned him. 

Just  before  he  entered  the  house  he  had 
169 


travelers  five 


almost  made  up  his  mind  that  he  would 
not  go  to  church  that  night.  Sister 
Bowles's  conversation  had  startled  him 
with  a  new  idea,  and  jogged  him  out  of 
his  well-worn  rut.  He  would  sit  out  on 
the  porch  till  church  was  over,  and 
then  follow  Luella  home,  and  take  up 
the  thread  of  his  protracted  courtship 
where  she  had  snapped  it.  five  years 
before. 

But  the  habit  of  decades  asserted  itself. 
He  bolted  the  back  door,  carried  the 
lamp  into  the  little  bedroom  adjoining 
the  kitchen,  and  proceeded  to  brush  his 
hair  according  to  the  usual  Sunday-night 
programme  of  preparation.  Sarah  had 
always  tied  his  cravat  for  him,  and  his 
stiff  fingers  fumbled  awkwardly  at  the 
knot.  That  was  one  ceremony  to  which 
he  could  not  grow  accustomed,  and  he 
had  serious  thoughts  of  turning  out  a 
beard  that  would  hide  all  sins  both  of 
170 


ffiftb  traveler 


omission  and  commission  in  the  way  of 
neckties. 

At  last  he  was  ready,  but  even  with  his 
hand  on  the  knob  and  his  hat  on  his  head, 
he  wavered  again  and  turned  back.  Cau- 
tiously tiptoeing  across  the  floor  to  see 
that  the  blue  paper  shade  was  drawn 
tightly  over  the  one  tiny  window  of  the 
little  bedroom,  he  opened  the  door  into 
the  closet,  and  felt  around  until  his  hand 
struck  a  nail  that  marked  some  secret 
hiding-place  in  the  wall.  From  some- 
where within  its  depths  he  drew  out  a  lit- 
tle japanned  canister,  branded,  in  gilt  let- 
ters, "  Young  Hyson ;  "  but  it  was  not  tea 
that  he  emptied  on  the  bed  and  poured 
through  his  rough  hands,  horny  with  long 
contact  with  hoe  and  plow.  It  was  a 
stream  of  dollars  and  dimes  and  nickels, 
with  an  occasional  gold  piece  filtering 
through  like  a  disk  of  sunshine.  A  wad 
of  paper  money  stuck  in  the  canister  until 
171 


^Travelers  jfive 


he  shook  it.  He  counted  that  last, 
smoothing  out  the  ragged  bills  one  at  a 
time,  and  then  folding  them  inside  a  crisp 
new  one  so  that  its  flaunting  V  was  dis- 
played on  top. 

One  might  have  thought  him  a  miser 
gloating  over  his  gold,  so  carefully  he 
counted  it  again  and  again,  sitting  there 
on  the  edge  of  his  bed.  But  there  was  no 
miserly  greed  in  the  wistful  glance  that 
followed  the  last  coin  into  the  little  can- 
ister, and  it  was  with  a  discouraged  sigh 
that  he  replaced  the  cover  and  sat  looking 
at  it,  the  slavish  hoarding  of  years. 

"  It  will  take  twenty  dollars  more,"  he 
finally  whispered  to  himself;  "  and  I  can't 
depend  on  any  ready  cash  until  after 
wheat  harvest."  He  counted  slowly  on 
his  fingers  May,  June,  July  —  it  might  be 
three  months  before  he  could  get  his 
threshing  done,  and  three  months,  now 
that  he  was  so  near  the  goal  of  his  life's 
172 


ffiftb  traveler 


ambition,  seemed  longer  than  the  years 
already  passed  in  waiting. 

They  were  singing  in  the  church  when 
he  went  out  on  the  porch  again,  and  as 
he  did  not  want  to  go  in  late,  that  decided 
the  question  that  had  been  see-sawing  in 
his  mind.  He  sat  down  in  the  rocking- 
chair,  with  his  elbows  on  his  knees  and 
his  head  in  his  hands.  Sister  Bowles's 
conversation  still  rankled. 

"  O  Lord,"  he  groaned  presently,  "  you 
know  I'm  not  a  wolf  in  sheep's  clothing. 
More  like  I'm  a  sheep  in  a  wolf's.  No- 
body understands  it.  Not  even  Luella.  I 
want  to  tell  her,  and  yet  it  seems  like  I 
hadn't  ought  to  yet  awhile.  One  minute 
I  think  one  way  and  the  next  minute  an- 
other. O  Lord,  I  vow  I  don't  know  what 
to  do!" 

Then  he  caught  the  words  of  the  song. 
It  was  not  one  of  the  usual  hymns  that 
floated  out  to  him  across  the  scent  of  the 


travelers  jfive 


apple-boughs,  but  an  old  tune  that  he  had 
heard  years  ago  at  a  camp-meeting: 

"  John  went  down  to  the  river  Jordan! 
John  went  down  to  the  river  Jordan! 
John  went  down  to  the  river  Jordan 
To  wash  his  sins  away!" 

Little  did  the  congregation  think,  as 
they  lifted  their  lusty  voices,  that  with  the 
thread  of  that  old  tune  lay  the  unravel- 
ling of  Bap  Sloan's  riddle.  For  this  is 
the  scene  it  brought  back  to  him,  out  of 
one  of  the  earliest  years  of  his  childhood. 
There  was  a  white  face  lying  back  among 
the  pillows  of  a  great  bed,  with  carved 
posts  and  a  valance  of  flowered  chintz 
that  smelled  faintly  of  lavender.  Some- 
body had  lifted  the  big  family  Bible  and 
laid  it  open  on  the  edge  of  the  bed,  and 
he  saw  himself,  a  sober-faced  little  fellow 
in  brown  dress  and  apron,  standing  on 
tiptoe  to  look  at  the  pictures.  That  white 


jfiftb  traveler 


face  on  the  pillows  was  his  mother's,  and 
this  was  the  only  recollection  he  had  of 
her.  Pointing  to  a  queer  old  engraving, 
she  had  told  him  the  story  of  John  the 
Baptist,  adding,  with  her  thin  hand  on 
his  curls:  "  And  your  name  is  John,  too. 
Little  John  Baptist,  though  we  don't  call 
you  by  all  of  it.  I  named  you  that  a  pur- 
pose. Give  you  a  good  name,  so  't  you'd 
be  a  good  man.  Mebbe  it's  just  a  whim 
of  mine,  but  I've  thought  a  good  deal 
about  it  while  I've  been  lying  here  sick. 
Mebbe  some  day  you'll  be  able  to  go  to 
the  Holy  Land,  'way  over  the  mountains 
and  over  the  seas,  and  be  baptized  in  that 
same  river  Jordan,  where  the  dove  de- 
scended. See  the  pretty  dove?" 

Even  though  the  baby  brain  understood 
but  dimly  what  she  said  to  him,  the  light 
in  her  uplifted  eyes  filled  him  with  sol- 
emn awe,  and  from  that  moment  the 
mantle  of  her  ambition  rested  henceforth 

175 


travelers  jftve 


on  his  young  shoulders.  It  was  a  vague, 
intangible  thing  at  first,  when  he  used  to 
go  back  to  the  old  Bible  and  study  the 
picture  in  secret.  He  never  understood 
when  it  began  to  fold  itself  about  his  life, 
or  how  it  grew  with  his  years  till  it  com- 
pletely enveloped  him. 

He  was  a  man  little  given  to  introspec- 
tion, and  with  a  mind  so  slow  to  arrive 
at  a  conclusion  that  it  always  seemed 
doubtful  if  he  would  ever  reach  it.  Still, 
when  he  once  settled  down  on  an  opinion, 
his  sister  Sarah  used  to  say  it  was  with  the 
determination  of  a  snapping-turtle.  "  He 
wouldn't  let  go  then  till  it  thundered." 
His  sister  Sarah  took  charge  of  him,  mind 
and  body,  when  their  mother  died,  and  so 
thoroughly  did  she  manage  him  that  her 
will  was  always  his,  except  in  that  one 
matter.  He  would  not  join  the  church  of 
his  fathers  until  he  got  ready,  and  he 
would  give  no  reason  for  his  delay. 
176 


traveler 


He  was  twenty  when  he  made  his  first 
stubborn  stand  against  her,  and  for  thirty 
years  Sarah  wept  over  him  both  in  public 
and  private,  and  for  thirty  years  Luella 
Clark's  heart  battled  with  her  conscience, 
which  would  not  let  her  be  "  unequally 
yoked  together  with  an  unbeliever."  And 
through  all  that  time  Baptist  Sloan  had 
kept  his  own  counsel,  hoarding  every 
penny  he  could  save,  to  the  refrain  of  his 
mother's  remembered  words:  "  Over  the 
mountains  and  over  the  seas,  and  be  bap- 
tized in  that  same  river  Jordan,  where  the 
dove  descended." 

He  had  so  firmly  made  up  his  mind 
that  after  that  pilgrimage  to  his  Mecca 
he  would  marry  Luella  that  he  had  never 
viewed  his  conduct  from  her  standpoint 
until  Sister  Bowles  opened  his  eyes.  Her 
speech  about  the  widower  aroused  him  to 
an  undefined  sense  of  danger.  All  that 
next  hour  his  inclination  shifted  like  a 
177 


travelers  jfi\>e 


weather-vane,  first  to  take  Luella  into  his 
confidence,  then  not  to.  By  the  time  the 
congregation  rose  for  the  last  hymn  he 
had  made  up  his  mind. 

The  moon  was  coming  up  now,  a  faint, 
misty  light  struggling  through  the  clouds. 
He  waited  until  most  of  the  congregation 
had  passed  his  gate,  and  then  striking  out 
across  the  potato-field,  waited  at  the  turn 
of  the  road  on  the  other  side  of  the  cedar- 
grove.  It  was  here  that  Luella  always 
parted  company  with  the  Robinson  girls, 
and  went  the  remaining  way  alone.  It 
was  only  a  few  steps  farther  to  her 
mother's  brown  cottage,  and  he  hurried 
to  overtake  her  before  she  should  reach 
the  gate. 

"Land  o'  Goshen!  Bap  Sloan!"  she 
exclaimed,  with  a  startled  little  cry,  as  he 
came  puffing  along  by  her  side.  "  Who'd 
'a'  dreamed  of  seeing  you  here?  Why 
wa'n't  you  at  church  to-night?  Every- 
178 


jftftb  traveler 


body  was  asking  if  you  were  sick,  it's  been 
so  long  since  you've  missed." 

"  Stop  a  minute,  Luella,"  he  exclaimed, 
blocking  her  way  by  planting  himself  di- 
rectly in  her  path.  "  I  want  to  talk  to 
you.  I've  made  up  my  mind  at  last  to 
tell  you,  and  I  want  you  to  come  back 
and  sit  down  on  the  stile  where  nobody 
else  can't  hear  it." 

Led  by  curiosity  as  much  as  by  the  new 
masterfulness  in  his  tone,  Luella  turned 
back  a  step  and  seated  herself  on  the  stile 
that  led  into  the  apple-orchard.  The 
blossom-laden  bough  of  a  gnarly  old  tree 
bent  over  her  head  and  sent  a  gust  of  fra- 
grance past  her  that  made  her  close  her 
eyes  an  instant  and  draw  a  long  breath,  it 
was  so  heavenly  sweet.  The  night  was 
warm,  but  she  drew  her  shawl  around  her 
erect,  angular  figure  with  a  forbidding 
air  that  made  it  hard  for  him  to  begin. 
"Well?"  she  said  stiffly. 
179 


travelers  tfive 


"  I  don't  know  just  how  it's  goin'  to 
strike  you,"  he  began,  hesitating  pain- 
fully. "  That  is  —  well,  I  don't  know  — 
maybe  you  won't  take  any  interest  in  it, 
after  all;  but  I  kinder  thought  —  some- 
thing might  happen  in  the  meantime  — 
maybe  I'd  better - 

He  gave  a  nervous  little  cough,  unable 
to  find  the  words. 

"  What  air  you  aiming  at,  anyhow, 
Baptist  Sloan?"  she  demanded. 
"What's  got  your  tongue?  Mother'll 
wonder  what's  keeping  me,  so  I  wish 
you'd  speak  up  and  say  what's  on  your 
mind,  if  there's  anything  a-troubling 
you." 

Then  he  blurted  out  his  confession  in 
a  few  short  sentences,  and  waited.  She 
sat  staring  at  him  through  such  a  long 
silence  that  he  forced  an  uneasy  laugh. 

"  I  was  afraid  maybe  you'd  think  it  was 
foolish,"  he  said  dejectedly.  "  That's 
1 80 


jfiftb  traveler 


why  I  never  could  bring  myself  to  speak 
of  it  all  these  years.  I  thought  nobody'd 
understand  —  that  they'd  laugh  at  me  for 
spendin'  a  fortune  that  way.  But  honest, 
Luella,  it  is  sort  o'  sacred  to  me,  and 
mother's  words  come  to  me  so  often  that 
it's  grown  to  be  like  one  of  the  command- 
ments to  me."  His  voice  sank  almost  to 
a  whisper:  "'Over  the  mountains  and 
over  the  seas,  and  be  baptized  in  that  same 
river  Jordan,  where  the  dove  descended.' 
It's  been  no  small  matter  to  live  up  to, 
either.  Sometimes  it  seems  to  me  as  if 
I'd  been  sent  out  like  the  children  of  Is- 
rael, and  it  was  goin'  to  take  the  whole 
forty  years  of  wanderin'  to  reach  my 
promised  land.  I've  spent  thirty  of  'em 
in  the  wilderness  of  wantin'  you,  but  I 
begin  to  see  my  way  clearin'  up  now 
toward  the  end.  Only  twenty  dollars 
more!  I  can  go  after  wheat  harvest  and 
the  threshin'.  Good  Lord,  Luella,  why 
181 


{Travelers  five 


don't  you  say  somethin'!  But  it's  no  use; 
I  know  you  think  I'm  such  an  awful 
fool." 

She  turned  toward  him  in  the  dim 
moonlight,  her  eyes  rilled  with  tears. 

"  Oh,  Bap,"  she  cried,  "  to  think  how 
everybody  has  misjudged  you  all  this 
time!  It's  perfectly  grand  of  you,  and  I 
feel  like  a  dawg  when  I  remember  all 
I've  said  about  your  not  being  a  be- 
liever, when  all  the  time  you  were  bet- 
ter than  any  of  us  can  ever  hope  to  be. 
It's  like  being  the  martyrs  and  crusa- 
ders all  at  once,  to  stick  to  such  an  am- 
bition through  thick  and  thin.  But 
oh,  Bap,  why  didn't  you  tell  me  long 
ago!" 

"  Don't  cry,  Luella,"  he  urged,  awk- 
wardly patting  the  shawl  drawn  around 
her  thin  shoulders.  He  was  amazed  and 
overwhelmed  at  this  unprecedented  reve- 
lation of  tenderness  in  what  had  always 
182 


fftftb  traveler 


been  to  him  the  most  stony-hearted  of 
natures. 

"  Then  maybe,  Luella,  after  wheat 
harvest,"  he  ventured,  floundering  out 
of  an  awkward  pause,  "  after  I've  been 
and  got  back,  then  —  will  you  have 
me?" 

She  slipped  her  hand  into  his.  She 
would  have  had  him  then  and  there  had 
he  asked  her,  and  counted  it  joy  to  be 
allowed  to  help  toil  for  the  funds  still 
needed  to  carry  her  saint  across  the  seas. 
Already  she  had  fitted  a  halo  about  the 
bald  spot  she  had  lately  ridiculed,  and 
she  burned  to  begin  her  expiation  for  that 
sacrilege. 

But  in  the  molding  of  his  plans  Baptist 
Sloan  had  arranged  that  marriage  was  to 
come  after  the  Mecca,  and  in  the  harden- 
ing process  of  the  years  that  idea  had  be- 
come so  firmly  set  in  his  mind  that  noth- 
ing short  of  supernatural  force  could  have 
183 


produced  a  change.  It  never  occurred  to 
him  that  it  was  possible  to  marry  before 
he  went  on  his  pilgrimage. 

He  held  the  hand  she  had  given  him 
awkwardly.  This  was  the  hour  he  had 
dreamed  of,  but  now  that  it  had  come,  he 
was  ill  at  ease,  uncertain  how  to  proceed. 
Suddenly  a  little  breeze,  swinging 
through  the  orchard,  stirred  the  apple- 
bough  above  them,  and  sent  a  shower  of 
pink-and-white  blossoms  across  their 
faces.  Velvety  soft  were  the  petals,  cool 
with  the  night  dew,  and  unspeakably 
sweet.  She  looked  up  at  him,  her  face 
grown  wonderfully  young  and  fresh 
again  in  the  moonlight.  He  stooped  and 
kissed  her.  The  apple-bough  swayed 
again  above  them,  with  another  fragrant 
shower  of  pink  and  white.  It,  too,  was 
gnarly  and  old,  but  standing  glorified, 
like  them,  for  a  little  while  in  the  sweet- 
ness of  belated  blossom-time. 
184 


It  was  the  talk  of  the  valley  —  this  pil- 
grimage of  Baptist  Sloan's.  Nobody 
within  its  borders  had  ever  been  out  of 
sight  of  land,  and  the  congregation  di- 
vided itself  into  two  factions  regarding 
him.  One  division  called  it  sinful  pride 
that  sent  him  chasing  away  to  parts  un- 
known on  such  an  errand.  Beargrass 
Creek  was  good  enough  for  Bap  Sloan's 
immersion,  if  it  had  been  good  enough 
for  his  father's  and  grandfather's  before 
him.  The  other  side  agreed  with  Luella, 
according  him  the  halo,  and  she,  in  the 
reflected  light  of  such  greatness,  beamed 
proudly  and  importantly  on  all  her  little 
world. 

Several  weeks  after  this  disclosure  he 
stopped  at  the  cottage  one  morning  in 
great  excitement.  He  held  a  letter  in  his 
hand,  some  railroad  time-tables,  and  the 
itinerary  of  a  "  personally  conducted " 
party  to  Palestine.  "  I  say,  Luella,"  he 


jfive 


cried,  "look  at  this!  It's  clear  provi- 
dence that  the  Paris  Exposition  happened 
to  start  up  just  now.  Here's  a  chance  to 
go  to  the  Jordan  on  excursion  rates,  with 
three  days  at  the  Exposition  thrown  in. 
I  needn't  wait  till  after  wheat  harvest 
now,  it's  so  much  cheaper  than  what  I 
had  figured  on.  And  the  beauty  of  it  is, 
I  can  not  only  kill  two  birds  with  one 
stone,  —  take  in  Paris  and  Palestine  both, 
—  but  have  a  guide  to  look  after  every- 
thing. It's  been  a  mystery  to  me  all  along 
how  I  was  to  find  my  way  around  in  those 
furrin  parts  by  myself.  But  this  settles 
everything.  I  can  start  to  New  York 
next  Wednesday,  and  get  there  before  the 
ship  sails.  Lord,  Luella!  To  think  it's 
really  comin'  to  pass  after  all  these 
years!  " 

Luella  was  in  a  quiver  of  excitement, 
but  she  rose  to  the  occasion  with  almost 
motherly   solicitude   for  his  well-being. 
186 


jfiftb  traveler 


"  I'll  put  up  your  lunch,  Bap,"  she  said. 
"  You  needn't  worry  about  a  thing;  only 
tell  me  what  you'd  like  to  have  cooked. 
And  if  you've  any  clothes  that  need 
mending,  just  you  bring  'em  right  down, 
and  I'll  see  to  'em.  I'll  go  over  to  your 
house  after  you've  gone,  too,  and  fix 
things  ready  to  be  left  shut  up  for  the 
time  you're  away." 

Her  prompt  decision  was  so  much  like 
his  sister  Sarah's  that  he  never  thought  of 
protesting.  It  seemed  good  to  be  man- 
aged once  more,  and  he  meekly  acqui- 
esced to  all  she  proposed. 

Luella  had  a  sharp  tongue,  but  it 
had  lost  its  sting  for  him  since  she 
had  put  him  on  the  pedestal  of  hero 
and  saint.  But  it  had  not  lost  its  cut- 
ting qualities  when  turned  on  other 
people. 

"  What's  this  big  empty  sarsaparilla 
bottle  doing  in  your  carpet-bag?  "  she  de- 
187 


{Travelers 


manded  suddenly  on  the  day  of  his  de- 
parture. 

"  Old  Mis'  Bates  wants  that  I  should 
take  it  along  and  fill  it  at  the  Jordan. 
She's  countin'  on  havin'  all  the  family 
baptized  out  of  it  when  I  get  back." 

"Out  of  one  quart  bottle!"  sniffed 
Luella,  scornfully.  "Humph!  Just  like 
the  Bateses.  Much  good  any  one  of  'em 
will  get  out  of  such  a  stingy  sprinkling. 
Why  didn't  you  tell  her  you  couldn't  be 
bothered  with  it?  You  always  was  the 
kind  to  be  imposed  on,  Bap  Sloan.  If  I 
wasn't  so  afraid  of  water  that  horses 
couldn't  pull  me  on  to  a  ship,  I'd  go  along 
to  look  after  you.  Do  take  care  of  your- 
self!" 

And  that  was  the  chorus  shouted  after 
him  as  he  swung  himself  up  the  car-steps, 
stumbling  over  his  carpet-bag  and  big 
cotton  umbrella.  Fully  two  thirds  of  the 
congregation  were  down  at  the  station  to 
188 


jfiftb  traveler 


bid  him  good-bye.  In  the  midst  of  the 
general  hand-shaking  some  one  started  a 
hymn,  and  the  last  words  that  Bap  Sloan 
heard,  as  he  hung  out  of  the  train  window 
to  wave  his  hat,  were: 

"  By  the  grace  of  God  we'll  meet  you 
On  Jordan's  happy  shore!  " 

There  was  one  last  look  at  Luella, 
wildly  waving  a  limp  wet  handkerchief. 
The  sight  so  affected  him  that  he  had  to 
draw  out  his  bandana  and  violently  blow 
his  nose;  but  he  smiled  as  the  train  went 
leaping  down  the  track.  All  the  weary 
waiting  was  over  at  last,  and  his  face  was 
set  toward  his  Promised  Land. 

Several  days  later,  in  one  of  the  south- 
bound trains  pulling  out  of  New  York, 
the  conductor  noticed  a  man  sitting  with 
his  head  bowed  in  his  hands.  His  soft 
slouch-hat  was  pulled  over  his  eyes,  and 
189 


{Travelers  five 


an  antiquated  carpet-bag  and  big  cotton 
umbrella  were  piled  on  the  seat  beside 
him.  Except  when  he  showed  his  ticket, 
there  was  no  change  in  his  attitude.  Mile 
after  mile  he  rode,  never  lifting  his  head, 
the  hopeless  droop  of  his  bowed  shoulders 
seeming  to  suggest  that  some  burden  had 
been  laid  upon  them  too  great  for  a  mor- 
tal to  bear. 

Night  came,  and  he  slept  at  intervals. 
Then  his  head  fell  back  against  the  cush- 
ion of  the  seat,  and  one  could  see  how 
haggard  and  worn  was  the  face  hereto- 
fore hidden.  In  the  gray  light  of  the 
early  morning  the  conductor  passed  again 
and  turned  to  give  a  second  glance  at  the 
furrowed  face  with  its  unshaven  chin, 
unconsciously  dropped,  and  the  gray,  un- 
combed hair  straggling  over  the  fore- 
head. Even  in  sleep  it  wore  an  expres- 
sion of  abject  hopelessness,  and  looked 
ten  years  older  than  when,  only  three 
190 


Jfiftb  traveler 


days  before,  it  smiled  good-bye  to  the 
singing  crowd  at  Beargrass  Valley  sta- 
tion. Baptist  Sloan  was  homeward 
bound,  and  yet  he  had  not  so  much  as 
even  seen  the  ship  which  was  to  have 
carried  him  to  his  Jordan. 

It  was  only  the  repetition  of  an  old 
story  —  old  as  the  road  going  down  from 
Jerusalem  to  Jericho.  He  had  fallen 
among  thieves.  In  the  bewilderment  and 
daze  which  fell  upon  him  when  he  found 
himself  alone  in  a  great  city,  he  had  been 
easy  prey  for  confidence  men.  There  had 
been  a  pretended  arrest.  He  had  been 
taken  into  custody  by  a  man  who  showed 
his  badge  and  assumed  to  be  a  private 
detective.  Sure  that  he  could  prove  his 
innocence,  and  smiling  grimly  as  he  com- 
pared himself  once  more  to  a  harmless 
sheep  in  wolf's  clothing,  he  allowed  him- 
self, without  an  outcry,  to  be  bundled  into 
a  carriage  that  was  to  take  him  to  the  po- 
191 


{Travelers  jftve 


lice  station.  When  he  came  to  himself  it 
was  morning,  and  he  was  on  the  steps  of 
a  cellar,  with  every  pocket  empty.  He 
had  been  robbed  of  his  little  fortune, 
stripped  bare  of  his  lifelong  hope. 

How  he  was  at  last  started  homeward 
with  a  ticket  in  his  hand  could  have  been 
explained  by  a  young  newspaper  reporter 
who  interviewed  him  exhaustively  at  the 
police  station,  whither  he  finally  found 
his  way.  The  reporter  made  a  good  story 
of  it,  touching  up  its  homely  romance 
with  effective  sketching;  and  then  be- 
cause he  had  come  from  the  same  State 
as  Baptist  Sloan,  because  he  had  once 
lived  on  a  farm  and  knew  an  honest  man 
when  he  saw  one,  he  loaned  him  the 
money  that  was  to  take  this  disabled 
knight  errant  home  with  his  mortal 
wound. 

It  was  on  the  afternoon  of  the  second 
day  that  Baptist  Sloan  opened  his  old 
192 


ififtb  traveler 


carpet-bag  for  the  remnants  of  the  lunch 
that  Luella  had  packed  inside.  His  hand 
struck  against  Mrs.  Bates's  sarsaparilla 
bottle,  and  he  shut  his  eyes  with  a  sicken- 
ing sensation  of  inward  sinking. 

"  And  I've  got  to  take  that  there  thing 
back  to  her  empty"  he  said,  gritting  his 
teeth.  "  Where  am  I  ever  goin'  to  get  the 
spunk  to  face  'em  all?  They'll  say  it  was 
a  judgment  on  me,  for  a  good  many  of 
'em  seemed  to  think  that  I  was  too  proud 
to  be  baptized  in  Beargrass.  They'll  say 
that  maybe  it's  to  save  me  from  fallin' 
short  of  heaven  that  I  failed  to  reach  the 
Jordan." 

As  he  slowly  munched  the  dry  remains 
of  his  lunch,  the  cogs  of  the  car-wheels 
started  anew  the  question  that  had  tor- 
mented him  all  the  way.  "  What  ivill- 
Lu-^/-la  say?  What  <will-Lu-el-\a  say?  " 
they  shrieked  over  and  over. 

"  She'll  say  that  I'm  an  awful  fool," 


{Travelers  fftve 


he  told  himself.  "  She  never  could  abide 
to  be  laughed  at,  and  if  people  poke  fun 
at  me,  she'll  never  have  me  in  the  world." 
The  alternate  hope  and  despair  that 
seized  him  were  like  the  deadly  burning 
and  chill  of  fever  and  ague.  "  If  I  only 
knew  how  she'd  take  it!  "  was  his  inward 
cry.  When  he  thought  of  her  proverbial 
sharp  tongue  he  quailed  at  the  ordeal  of 
meeting  her.  But  through  every  interval 
of  doubt  came  the  fragrance  of  the  moon- 
lighted apple-orchard,  the  old  stile,  that 
one  kiss  —  a  remembrance  as  sweet  as  the 
blossom-time  itself.  Surely  Luella  must 
think  of  that. 

Presently  he  noticed  that  the  brakeman 
was  calling  out  the  names  of  familiar  sta- 
tions, and  he  realized  that  he  was  almost 
home.  Only  a  few  minutes  more  to  sum- 
mon his  courage  and  brace  himself  for 
his  trial.  The  train  rumbled  over  a  tres- 
tle, and  peering  out  through  the  gather- 
194 


jfiftb  traveler 


ing  dusk  he  saw  the  shallow  waters  of 
Beargrass  Creek,  black  with  the  reflection 
of  the  evening  shadows.  "  The  only  Jor- 
dan Bap  Sloan  will  ever  see  now,"  he 
said,  with  a  shiver  that  sent  a  tremor 
through  his  bowed  shoulders. 

"Beargrass  Valley!"  he  heard  the 
brakeman  call.  Nervously  he  clutched 
his  carpet-bag  and  umbrella,  and  lurched 
down  the  aisle.  But  when  the  train 
stopped  and  he  was  half-way  down  the 
steps,  he  paused  and  clung  an  instant  to 
the  railing.  "  O  Lord!  "  he  groaned  once 
more,  involuntarily  shrinking  back.  "  If 
women  wa'n't  so  awfully  oncertain!  If 
I  just  knew  what  Luella's  goin'  to  say!  " 

As  Baptist  Sloan  clicked  the  latch  of 
his  front  gate  behind  him,  and  stood  a 
moment  in  the  path,  the  familiar  outlines 
of  his  old  home  rising  up  in  the  dim  light 
smote  him  with  fresh  pain.  The  thirty 
years  of  hope  and  struggle  were  there  to 


^Travelers  jfive 


meet  him  with  accusing  faces  and  to  turn 
his  home-coming  into  bitterness  unspeak- 
able —  such  bitterness  as  only  those  can 
know  who  have  cringed  under  the  slow 
heartbreak  of  utter  failure.  He  did  not 
even  unlock  the  door,  but  dropping  his 
carpet-bag  and  umbrella  on  the  porch 
floor,  sank  down  into  the  old  wooden 
rocker,  covering  his  face  with  his  hands. 

It  was  in  this  attitude  that  Luella  found 
him  an  hour  later,  when  she  came  hurry- 
ing down  the  path  with  quick,  fluttering 
steps.  The  moonlight,  struggling  through 
the  vines  on  the  porch,  showed  her  the 
object  of  her  search. 

"I  just  now  heard  you  was  home!" 
she  cried,  with  a  nervous  little  laugh. 
"  It  was  in  the  evening  paper,  all  about 
it.  The  doctor  stopped  by  and  showed  it 
to  me." 

She  paused  on  the  top  step,  out  of 
breath,  and  awed  by  the  rigid  despair 
196 


JWb  traveler 


showing  in  every  line  of  the  silent  figure. 
She  had  divined  that  he  might  need  com- 
fort, but  she  was  not  prepared  for  such 
desolation  as  this.  Silently  she  took  an- 
other step  toward  him,  then  another,  and 
laid  her  hand  timidly  on  his  shoulder. 
His  only  response  was  a  long,  shivering 
sigh. 

"  Oh,  Bap,  don't!  "  she  cried.  "  Don't 
take  it  like  that!  " 

"  I've  give'  up,"  he  said  dully.  "  Seems 
as  if  it  wa'n't  worth  while  to  go  on  living 
any  longer,  when  I've  made  such  an  aw- 
ful failure.  It's  the  hope  of  a  lifetime 
blasted,  and  I  can't  help  feelin'  that  some 
way  or  'nother  mother  knows  it,  too,  and 
is  disappointed  in  me." 

She  gathered  the  bowed  head  in  her 
arms,  and  pressing  it  toward  her,  began 
stroking  it  with  soothing  touches,  as  ten- 
derly as  if  she  had  been  that  disappointed 
mother. 

197 


{Travelers  fftve 


"There,  there!"  she  sobbed,  with  a 
choking  voice.  "  You  sha'n't  say  that 
again.  The  world  might  count  it  a  fail- 
ure, same  as  they  would  a  race-horse  that 
didn't  get  under  the  wire  first.  But  what 
if  you  didn't  get  there,  Bap,  think  how 
you  ran!  You  went  just  as  far  as  the 
Lord  let  you,  and  nobody  can  count  it  a 
failure  when  He  stepped  in  and  stopped 
you.  Look  at  Moses!  He  didn't  get  to 
his  Promised  Land  either.  Maybe  it 
ain't  right  for  me  to  make  Bible  compari- 
sons, but  you  went  just  as  far  as  he  did, 
where  you  could  stand  and  look  over,  and 
I'm  proud  of  you  for  it.  It's  a  sight 
farther  than  most  people  get." 

There  was  tender  silence  for  a  little 
space,  then  she  descended  from  the  Pis- 
gah  on  which  she  had  placed  him  and 
came  down  to  the  concerns  of  every-day 
life.  When  she  spoke  again  it  was  with 
her  usual  bustling  air  of  authority. 
198 


jfiftb  traveler 


"  Here,  I've  brought  the  key,"  she  said. 
"  Stick  your  carpet-bag  inside  the  door, 
and  come  home  with  me.  Jordan  or  no 
Jordan,  you've  got  to  have  a  cup  of  tea 
and  a  good  hot  supper." 


THE    END. 


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TWO   LITTLE  KNIGHTS  OF  KENTUCKY 
THE  GIANT  SCISSORS 
BIG  BROTHER 

Special  Holiday  Editions 

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drawings  in  color,  and  many  marginal  sketches. 

IN  THE  DESERT  OF  WAITING:  THE  LEGEND 
OF  CAMELBACK  MOUNTAIN. 

THE  THREE  WEAVERS:  A  FAIKT  TALK  FOB 
FATHERS  AND  MOTHERS  AS  WELL  AS  FOB  THEIR 
DAUGHTERS. 

KEEPING  TRYST 

THE  LEGEND  OF  THE  BLEEDING  HEART 

THE  RESCUE  OF  PRINCESS  WINSOME: 

A  FAIRY  PLAT  FOB  OLD  AND  YOUNG. 

THE  JESTER'S  SWORD 

Each  one  volume,  tall  16mo,  cloth  decorative     .      $0.50 

Paper  boards .35 

There  has  been  a  constant  demand  for  publication  in 
separate  form  of  these  six  stories  which  were  originally 
included  in  six  of  the  "  Little  Colonel  '  books. 

JOEL:  A  BO  Y  OF  GALILEE:  BY  ANNIE  FELLOWS 

JOHNSTON.    Illustrated  by  L.  J.  Bridgman. 
New  illustrated  edition,  uniform  with  the  Little  Colonel 
Books,  1  vol.,  large  12mo,  cloth  decorative          .      $1.50 
A  story  of  the  time  of  Christ,  which  is  one  of  the  author's 
best-known  books. 

2 


WORKS  OF   ANNIE   FELLOWS  JOHNSTON 

THE    LITTLE    COLONEL    GOOD    TIMES 
BOOK 

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Published  in  response  to  many  inquiries  from  readers 
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a  "  Good  Times  Book  "  such  as  Betty  kept. 
THE     LITTLE     COLONEL     DOLL     BOOK 

Large  quarto,  boards $1.50 

A  series  of  "  Little  Colonel  "  dolls,  —  not  only  the 
Little  Colonel  herself,  but  Betty  and  Kitty  and  Mary 
Ware,  yes,  and  Rob,  Phil,  and  many  another  of  the  well- 
loved  characters,  —  even  Mom'  Beck  herself.  There  are 
many  of  them  and  each  has  several  changes  of  costume,  so 
.that  the  happy  group  can  be  appropriately  clad  for  the 
rehearsal  of  any  scene  or  incident  in  the  senes. 

The  large,  cumbersome  sheets  of  most  of  the  so-called 
doll  "  books "  have  been  discarded,  and  instead  each 
character,  each  costume,  occupies  a  sheet  by  itself,  the 
dolls  and  costumes  being  cut  out  only  as  they  are  wanted. 
ASA  HOLMES:  OB,  AT  THE  CROSS-ROADS.  A  sketch 

of   Country  Life    and  Country   Humor.      By    ANNIH 

FELLOWS  JOHNSTON. 

With  a  frontispiece  by  Ernest  Fosbery. 

Large  16mo,  cloth,  gilt  top $1.00 

"  '  Asa  Holmes;    or,  At  the  Cross-Roads  '  is  the  most 
delightful,  most  sympathetic  and  wholesome  book  that 
has  been  published  in  a  long  while."  —  Boston  Times. 
TRAVELERS    FIVE:    ALONG     LIFE'S    HIGHWAY. 

By  ANNIE  FELLOWS  JOHNSTON. 

With  a  frontispiece  in  color  from  a  painting  by  Ed- 
mund H.  Garrett.  12mo,  cloth  decorative.  .  $1.25 

In  her  new  book,  written  with  the  same  grace  and  ease 
that  have  distinguished  her  former  works,  Mrs.  Johnston 
introduces  five  travelers  along  life's  highway.  The  char- 
acters are  all  so  different  —  some  humorous,  some  pa- 
thetic —  and  yet  all  so  very  real,  that  their  progress  along 
the  road  will  afford  entertainment  and  pleasure.  The 
book  is  full  of  life  and  action. 
3 


L.    C.   PAGE    &•    COMPANY'S 


COSY  CORNER  SERIES 

It  is  the  intention  of  the  publishers  that  this  series  shall 
contain  only  the  very  highest  and  purest  literature,  — 
stories  that  shall  not  only  appeal  to  the  children  them- 
selves, but  be  appreciated  by  all  those  who  feel  with 
them  in  their  joys  and  sorrows. 

The  numerous  Ulustrationp  in  each  book  are  by  well- 
known  artists,  and  each  volume  has  a  separate  attract- 
ive cover  design. 

Each  1  vol.,  16mo,  cloth 10.50 

By  ANNIE  FELLOWS  JOHNSTON 

THE   LITTLE   COLONEL      (Trade  Mark.) 

The  scene  of  this  story  is  laid  in  Kentucky.  Its  hero- 
ine is  a  email  girl,  who  is  known  as  the  Little  Colonel, 
on  account  of  her  fancied  resemblance  to  an  old-school 
Southern  gentleman,  whose  fine  estate  and  old  family 
are  famous  in  the  region. 

THE  GIANT  SCISSORS 

This  is  the  story  of  Joyce  and  of  her  adventures  in 
France.  Joyce  is  a  great  friend  of  the  Little  Colonel, 
and  in  later  volumes  shares  with  her  the  delightful  ex- 
periences of  the  "  House  Party  "  and  the  "  Holidays." 

TWO  LITTLE  KNIGHTS  OF  KENTUCKY 

WHO  WERE  THE  LITTLE  COLONEL'S  NEIGHBORS. 

In  this  volume  the  Little  Colonel  returns  to  us  like  an 
old  friend,  but  with  added  grace  and  charm.  She  is  not, 
however,  the  central  figure  of  the  story,  that  place  being 
taken  by  the  "  two  little  knights." 

MILDRED'S  INHERITANCE 

A  delightful  little  story  of  a  lonely  English  girl  who 
conies  to  America  and  is  befriended  by  a  sympathetic 
American  family  who  are  attracted  by  her  beautiful 
speaking  voice.  By  means  of  this  one  gift  she  is  en- 
abled to  help  a  school-girl  who  has  temporarily  lost  the 
use  of  her  eyes,  and  thus  finally  her  life  becomes  a  busy, 
happy  one. 
4 


WORKS  OF  ANNIE   FELLOWS  JOHNSTON 
By  ANNIE  FELLOWS  JOHNSTON  (Continued) 

CICELY  AND  OTHER  STORIES  FOR  GIRLS 

The  readers  of  Mrs.  Johnston's  charming  juveniles 
•will  be  glad  to  learn  of  the  issue  of  this  volume  for  young 
people. 

AUNT  'LIZA'S  HERO  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

A  collection  of  six  bright  little  stories,  which  will  appeal 
to  all  boys  and  most  girls. 

BIG  BROTHER 

A  story  of  two  boys.  The  devotion  and  care  of  Stephen, 
himself  a  small  boy,  for  his  baby  brother,  is  the  theme  of 
the  simple  tale. 

OLE  MAMMY'S  TORMENT 

"Ole  Mammy's  Torment"  has  been  fitly  called  "» 
classic  of  Southern  life."  It  relates  the  haps  and  mis- 
haps of  a  small  negro  lad,  and  tells  how  he  was  led  by 
love  and  kindness  to  a  knowledge  of  the  right. 

THE  STORY  OF  DAGO 

In  this  story  Mrs.  Johnston  relates  the  story  of  Dago, 
a  pet  monkey,  owned  jointly  by  two  brothers.  Dago 
tells  his  own  story,  and  the  account  of  his  haps  and  mis- 
haps is  both  interesting  and  amusing. 

THE  QUILT  THAT  JACK  BUILT 

A  pleasant  little  story  of  a  boy's  labor  of  love,  and  how 
it  changed  the  course  of  his  life  many  years  after  it  war 
accomplished 

FLIP'S  ISLANDS  OF  PROVIDENCE 

A  story  of  a  boy's  life  battle,  hi«  early  defeat,  and  his 
final  triumph,  weU  worth  the  reading. 
5 


From 

L.  C.  Page  &  Company's 

Announcement   List 

of  New   Fiction 


By  L.  M.  MONTGOMERY. 

Cloth,  12mo,  illustrated,  decorative  jacket  .        .        .        $1.50 

To  quote  from  one  of  our  editor's  reports  on  the  new  Mont- 
gomery book  —  "  Miss  Montgomery  has  decidedly  arrived  in  this 
story!  "  The  remarkable  success  of  her  delightful  ANNE  books 
and  of  the  charming  "  Kilmeny  of  the  Orchard  "  has  established 
her  as  one  of  America's  leading  authors  —  a  writer  of  books 
which  touch  the  heart,  uplift  the  spirit,  and  leave  an  imprint  of 
lasting  sweetness  on  the  memory.  But  in  "  The  Story  Girl," 
everywhere  the  touch  of  the  finished  artist  is  evident  —  a  smooth- 
ness and  polish  which  heightens  the  unusual  style  of  a  gifted 
author. 

The  environment  is  again  the  author's  beloved  Prince  Edward 
Island  and  the  story  and  incidents  possess  the  same  simplicity 
and  charm  which  characterize  Miss  Montgomery's  earlier  books. 
The  Story  Girl,  herself  —  Sara  Stanley  —  is  a  fascinating 
creature,  and  will  delight  and  thrill  her  readers  with  her  weird 
tales  of  ghosts  "  and  things."  She  tells  in  wondrous  voice  of 
"  The  Mystery  of  the  Golden  Milestone,"  "  How  Kissing  Was 
Discovered  "  and  of  just  how  the  Milky  Way  happened  into  the 
heavens.  She  will  make  you  feel  the  spell  of  the  old  orchard 
where  she  and  her  playmates  spend  such  happy  days,  and  with 
Felix,  Dan  and  Beverly  you  will  live  again  with  her  the  "  trage- 
dies of  childhood." 

Of  Miss  Montgomery's  previous  books,  the  reviewers  have 
written  as  follows: 

"  The  art  which  pervades  every  page  is  so  refined  that  the  cul- 
tivated imagination  will  return  to  the  story  again  and  again  in 
memory  to  find  always  something  fresh  to  enjoy."  —  Toronto 
World. 

"  Miss  Montgomery  has  attained  an  honored  place  among  the 
worth-while  writers  of  fiction."  —  Beacon  and  Budget. 

"  Miss  Montgomery  has  a  sympathetic  knowledge  of  human 
nature,  joined  to  high  ideals,  a  reasonably  romantic  view  point 
and  a  distinct  gift  of  description."  —  Chicago  Record-Herald. 


L.    C.  PAGE   &>   COMPANY'S 


A  CAPTAIN  OF  RALEIGH'S 

By  G.  E.  THEODORE  ROBERTS,  author  of  "  A  Cavalier  of  Vir- 

g'nia,"  "  Comrades  of  the  Trails,"  "  Red  Feathers,"  etc. 
loth,  12mo,  illustrated,  decorative  jacket 

Net  $1.25  (carriage,  13c.  extra) 

A  typical  Roberts  romance  —  dashing  and  brisk  with  the 
scenes  for  the  most  part  laid  in  the  infant  colony  of  Newfound- 
land, at  the  time  when  Sir  Walter  Raleigh  and  other  famous 
captains  swept  the  seas  for  England.  Sir  Walter  is  one  of  the 
characters  in  the  romance  but  the  chief  interest  centres  about  one 
of  his  officers,  Captain  John  Percy. 

Elizabeth  Duwaney,  the  heroine,  is  beautiful  and  vivacious 
enough  to  quite  turn  the  heads  of  the  several  gallant  gentlemen 
who  struggle  for  her  hand,  and  to  keep  the  reader  guessing  until 
the  very  last  page  as  to  which  suitor  will  find  favor  in  her  eyes. 
Unusual  and  unexpected  situations  in  the  plot  are  handled  skil- 
fully and  you  close  the  book  agreeing  with  our  editor  that  "  Mr. 
Roberts  has  given  us  another  capital  yarn!  " 

"  Mr.  Roberts  has  undoubted  skill  in  portraying  character 
and  carrying  events  along  to  a  satisfactory  conclusion."  — 
The  Smart  Set. 

"  One  can  always  predict  of  a  book  by  Mr.  Roberts  that  it 
will  be  interesting.  One  can  go  further  and  predict  that  the  book 
will  be  fascinating,  exciting  and  thrilling."  —  Boston  Globe. 

A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY  FORGE 

By  ROBERT  NEILSON  STEPHENS,  author  of  "  An  Enemy  to  the 
King,"  "  Philip  Winwood,"  etc.,  and  G.  E.  THEODORE 
ROBERTS,  author  of  "  Hemming,  the  Adventurer,"  "  Red 
Feathers,"  etc. 

12mo,  cloth  decorative,  illustrated  .  .  .  .  $1.50 
The  many  admirers  of  the  brilliant  historical  romances  of  the 
late  Robert  Neilson  Stephens  will  be  gratified  at  the  announce- 
ment of  a  posthumous  work  by  that  gifted  writer.  The  rough 
draft  of  the  story  was  laid  aside  for  other  work,  and  later,  with- 
out completing  the  novel,  the  plot  was  utilized  for  a  play.  With 
the  play  completed  Mr.  Stephens  again  turned  his  attention  to 
the  novel,  but  death  prevented  its  completion.  Mr.  Roberts  has 
handled  his  difficult  task  of  completing  the  work  with  care  and 
skill. 

The  story,  Hke  that  of  "  The  Continental  Dragoon,"  takes  as 
its  theme  an  incident  in  the  Revolution,  and,  as  in  the  earlier 
novel,  the  scene  is  the  "  debatable  ground  "  north  of  New  York. 
In  interest  of  plot  and  originality  of  development  it  is  as  re- 
markable as  the  earlier  work,  but  it  is  more  mature,  more  force- 
ful, more  real. 


University  of 

REGIONA«-  UBRY  FAC.L.TY 
Hilgard  Avenue,  Los  Angeles,  CA  90024  1388 
Return  this  material  to  the  library 
from  which  it  was  borrowed. 


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